


darkness on the edge of town

by Hollyhockgirl



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (None of the Losers), Can a whole town be haunted?, Canon Divergence after IT: Chapter One, Canon-Typical Violence, Conspiracy, Crime, Derry (Stephen King) is Terrible, Descriptions of Anxiety and Anxiety Attacks, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's Summer! We're supposed to be having fun!, LET EDDIE RUN, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Period-Typical Homophobia, Poisoning, Police Brutality and Corruption, References to Pennywise, References to Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, The Losers Club Are Good Friends (IT), The Losers Club Love Each Other (IT), Thriller, body anxiety, no memory loss because I'm not about that life, references to vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22945426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollyhockgirl/pseuds/Hollyhockgirl
Summary: The Losers return to Derry for their first summer break from college. A discovery at the Quarry leads to a mystery that sends them to the deepest, darkest depths of the small town.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

April 26, 1995  
Staten Island, New York  
Wagner College

The social event of every Wagner College school year was the party thrown at Milford House, one of the residence halls. This particular year Keith Chernin, a third-year Business major who was dating the Student Body President, was put in charge of planning the party. He declared that this year’s Milford House blowout “was going to be the greatest party ever seen on any college campus” and set about over-planning and micro-managing every minute detail. He had nothing to worry about. Nearly every Wagner College student was giddy with anticipation and had been since the previous year’s party ended. It was the talk of the campus.

The party began promptly at eight pm. The residents gathered in the lobby of the dorm hall. They formed an almost cult-like circle and watched as Dave Masters chugged a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and then threw the empty can at the wall. They erupted into whoops and cheers; grabbing unopened cans and throwing them against the wall themselves, some hitting the windows and paintings that had been hung up. Despite the boisterousness of the proceedings, there was a solemnity that was more befitting the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics.

Like a swarm of locusts, the students of Wagner College descended upon Milford House. No one had been personally invited, no flyers had been passed out or tacked to an information board. The date and time had been passed around from student to student as though it was a game of telephone. No one forgot. 

To say that every student at Wagner had shown up would be hyperbolic, but believable. Inside the building, you would only be able to take three baby steps before bumping into another person. The party spilled out onto the lawn out of necessity and not desire. So many students attended that no less than five jokes about sardines and needing a can opener to get out were made over the course of the night. The next morning the gossip around the campus was that the Dean of Students had been seen doing a keg stand in the backyard of Milford House, but no one was able to confirm or deny the story.

At nine forty-five, Bryan Swarling walked out of the kitchen and into the sea of people in the lobby. At six feet Bryan was rather tall, but he jumped up every once in a while to see over the crowd. His eyes methodically scanned from one side of the room to the other. He stopped a husky red-headed man and asked if he had seen Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Who’s Eddie Kaspbrak?” demanded the young man.

Before Bryan could react, the young man turned to do a keg stand. Slowly Bryan inched further into the room, twisting and “excuse-me”-ing himself through the crowd. At times the movements that he had to incorporate in order to dodge party-goers resembled ballet. Even with that he was jostled and pushed around. Occasionally he would stop someone he recognized and ask if they had seen Eddie Kaspbrak. Many of the people that Bryan asked had never met Eddie. Bryan was extremely close to giving up looking for Eddie when an idea came to him.

Eddie Kaspbrak was the only one in the residence hall to have a room to himself. When asked about that he would turn a beet red and mutter something about his mother before awkwardly trying to change the subject. It was a small room at the end of the hall on the second floor. Many of the rooms were carpeted, but Eddie’s was made up of uncovered floorboards. The walls were painted a dull eggshell white that had begun to chip. The western wall was slanted, and a small bed was tucked underneath the slope. A desk was pushed against the opposite wall. It was shrouded by textbooks and notebooks. Just above the desk was a cork board covered by reminders, receipts, takeout menus from local eateries, a postcard of the Hollywood sign that said “Wish you were here, Eds!” in a thick, barely legible scribble, a photo of Eddie and a middle-aged obese woman in an off-the-rack floral dress, and a photo of Eddie with a group of people, five young men and a young woman. There was barely any room between any of them and all were wearing wide, joyful smiles. 

Eddie Kaspbrak was in the midst of relaxation techniques. He took a deep final sip of tea, allowing the steam to blanket his sinuses. He tried to imagine honey dripping from the top of his head to all of his bones, releasing the tension. That did not work. With the idea that it would get the blood pumping through the arms and release the knots in his back, Eddie did some push-ups. He did jumping jacks and twirled his arms around in a pinwheel motion until he felt woozy and lightheaded. Disappointed that it didn’t work and fearful of the implications, Eddie retreated to his bed, under blankets and quilts. 

Eddie was of average height with a slim build and long limbs; the body of a runner. He had thick dark hair that was conservatively cut and parted on the side. His features were delicate, but not dainty, with sharp cheekbones that made him look like a Modigliani Painting. Worry lines had already set in on his forehead, though he had not yet celebrated his twentieth birthday. Eddie’s green heron eyes were covered now by the beady rimless glasses that he wore when he was reading or particularly tired. The bridge of his nose seemed too narrow to carry its own weight and the nostrils resembled a duck’s bill. Eddie’s wide, thin lips could just as easily purse schoolmarmishly or tug up into a radiant, boyish smile. He carried himself with a nervous air and stooped shoulders, as though he was making himself as small as possible. Myra Huggins, who had Algebra with Eddie junior year of high school, told her friend Tracy South that she thought he looked like Montgomery Clift. Halloween of the same year The Losers Club had watched “Psycho” at Ben Hanscom’s home and afterward Bill Denbrough asked Beverly Marsh if she thought Eddie looked like Norman Bates.

Sometimes Eddie still couldn’t believe he had been able to go out of state for college. During the first week of Eddie’s freshmen year of high school a college fair had been held for the seniors. Wagner College had a booth set up in the cafeteria beside the table where Eddie was sitting with the other members of the Losers Club. He heard all the pitches the Wagner College representatives used on passersby. They were extremely proud of their medical program and the representatives talked it up to everyone who would listen. Eddie had recently become interested in medicine, wondering if the fear and anxiety he had concerning his body could be mitigated through knowledge. Something was wrong with him and he wanted to know what. The most attractive part of Wagner, in Eddie’s opinion, was that it wasn’t in Maine. It took him three months to work up the courage to go to the counselor’s office and get a pamphlet for Wagner College, but once he read it Eddie came to the conclusion that that was where he was going to go.

The Campaign for Wagner College began soon after and occupied most of Eddie and Sonia’s interactions for the next three years. A month after Eddie made up his mind to attend Wagner, he worked up enough courage to broach the subject with his mother. He purposefully buried the lead on the fact that Wagner was in New York, but once it was mentioned Sonia burst into tears. Tears were her weapons. The sobs gave Eddie a pause. He was shaken and rattled, but he pressed on. He wasn’t able to get much further before Sonia slumped back in her chair and began to complain about her heart. With a wane smile that was meant to convey bravery and stoicism, she rushed to her bedroom.

For the next five months anytime New York was mentioned, even on the television, she would burst out sobbing. She accused his friends of leading him astray and away from her. Eddie spent most of the next three years grounded. Toward the end of junior year, he spent Memorial Day weekend locked in his bedroom. She wheedled, manipulated and threw great temper tantrums, yelling at him until she was as red as a beet and out of breath. It seemed to her like a waking nightmare that she was powerless to stop. Sonia told him stories about how dangerous New York was and recited crime statistics for college campuses. She reminded him of how much she loved and cared for him. Who else cooked and cleaned for him? How would he be able to get along by himself?

Sonia expected Eddie to “throw his little snits” as she referred to them. He would yell, stomp his feet and cry before relenting and obeying her. He would see all that Sonia did for him and all of the love that he could possibly need came from her. That was what she expected, leaving the rug to be pulled out from under her by Eddie’s reaction. Eddie didn’t explode but instead conducted himself with a calm serenity. After the first confrontation about college, Eddie did not speak to his mother for two weeks. He was not petulant or sulky; no show of histrionics. He accepted his punishments soberly, without a word for or against them. Every time the subject was brought up, he would make his case in a mild and even-tempered manner, never raising his voice. He stood straight and tall, unflinching as Sonia would yell in his face.

Stalemate after stalemate occurred without either of them gaining any ground. A week before the application for Wagner was due Eddie mailed his in without Sonia’s knowledge or consent. Immediately after dropping it into the mailbox he ran into the post office’s bathroom and threw up.

Eddie returned home to find Sonia in her usual spot, sitting on a Lazy Boy in the living room watching Sally Jesse Raphael. He stood in front of the television and did not move when she told him too.

“Ma. Ma, I need to tell you something,” said Eddie, his voice getting louder and stronger as he went on. His eyes were serious and piercing. “I went to the post office today and mailed a letter. It was my application to go to Wagner. That’s where I want to go to college. Not Bangor Community College, not Podunk University. Wagner. That’s it for me, Ma, I swear. There’s nothing you can do. It’s happening. It just is. Don’t try and stop it, please. I don’t know if I’m going to be accepted yet. I hope to God I am. If that happens, I’m spreading my wings and leaving this town. Don’t you see? I don’t want to die here. I don’t. It will be a good thing, I promise.”

Sonia yelled at Eddie for two hours straight. After saying “how could you? I am your mother.” for the hundredth time Sonia sunk back into her Lazy Boy and sobbed. Eventually, a compromise was reached. Eddie would be able to attend Wagner if he called home every night at 8 pm and came home for every break longer than three days. Eddie accepted the conditions and followed them to the T. During the second week of August 1994 Eddie went outside of Maine for the first time in his life.

In Eddie’s math class, there was a young man named Sam Henretty. Due to a disease, it was necessary for Sam to have his arm amputated. Eddie had never worked up the courage to ask a classmate what Sam’s health problem was and what he had overheard were conflicting reports. Today was Sam’s first day back in class after the operation. 

Sam was standing by the blackboard talking to a group of friends. He was wearing a gray t-shirt that left the stump visible. It had been amputated just above the elbow. He did not have a prosthetic. The arm was pink from angry, hot veins that seemed to scream. It was flabby and puckered due to a lack of muscle. 

The amputated arm was facing Eddie when he entered the classroom; the first thing he saw. It was like he had been struck by lightning. The world around him tunneled down until all that was left was the amputated arm blaring like a thousand wait neon light. His heart pounded in an affrettando tempo against lungs that were slowly shrinking. Eddie was only able to look away when he realized he was being rude. 

He made his way to a desk in the back of the classroom, taking deep, steadying breaths from his diaphragm. It would have been fine; Eddie’s mind would have been able to move to other more pleasant thoughts if Sam had not sat in the desk directly in front of him. Eddie spent the class period in a daze, unable to hear anything that the teacher said. He tried his best not to look at the amputated arm, but an image had been tattooed in his mind's eye. 

When the class finished, Eddie went to the Student Union Building for lunch. He was reaching to grab a can of Pepsi from the vending machine when a spasm of pain shot through his arm. It felt as though a nerve under his armpit was being pinched. The pain was so sharp and sudden that Eddie let out a gasp. He left immediately for his dormitory, not even grabbing the soda. 

Eddie didn’t turn on the lights when he stepped into the dorm room. He went straight to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He took four ibuprofen pills, an Omega-3 supplement pill and lathered his arms and hands in a liniment gel intended for horses. All of this went along with a full vitamin regimen. Eddie believed in the Boy Scout Motto. 

As Eddie took his medicine he stared at his reflection in the mirror and tried not to think about his mother. 

Eddie was eight years old, standing on the peeling linoleum floor in the middle of the kitchen. His hair was dripping wet and his knees were shaking.

“Eddie, darling, sometimes I wonder if you’re touched,” Sonia Kaspbrak said, her voice was low and patient, but her eyes were blazing. “You’re delicate, Eddie. Weak, Eddie. You’re not as strong as the other boys. You are absolutely never to go out in the rain without a jacket and galoshes. I had a friend once who wore a pair of sneakers during a rainstorm. By the time she returned home, she had frostbite on both of her feet. Do you know what frostbite is?” Eddie shook his head as fear clouded his mind and a million images flew across his mind's eye. A shiver raced down his spine. Sonia continued, “The blood in her feet froze. They shriveled up and turned black. Both of her feet had to be amputated.”

After a moment Eddie found his voice, “Which friend was it, Ma?” he questioned, his breath coming out high and whistling. 

“And what does that have to do with the price of eggs?” Sonia snapped. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ve told you time and time again that if you must go out in the rain not to do it without galoshes. I’m not to find you disobeying me again. Do I make myself clear? I’m only doing this because I love you, Eddie. You need to be protected. I know best. You need to trust me.”

Tears clouded up her eyes, securing Sonia a victory.  
  
Whenever Eddie thought about his mother, she was larger than reality; standing over him, swallowing him up. She blocked out everything and shrunk him down to size. Just thinking about her reverted him back to eight years of age. He was fond of his mother and very much afraid of her. The contradiction settled uneasily on his shoulders. Sonia Kaspbrak could enact the same kindness and it would be sincere and the next day do the same to manipulate Eddie. He never knew. She would praise and pet him sincerely and it would relieve Eddie that she wasn’t upset at him or it would sadden him because he knew this wouldn’t last and she would try to manipulate him again soon. Bill Denbrough once said that “E-eddie’s mom i-i-is the only mom who-who-who wished the u-u-m..bil..ical cord hadn’t been c-cut.” But for all the times that Eddie swore to leave, not call or do the thing that she told him not to, he couldn’t. He was a coward, a sick, pathetic coward.

The summer when Eddie was ten, his Aunt Hope had visited from Bangor for the day. After she and Sonia went out for lunch, they returned to the Kaspbrak house and had coffee in the kitchen. As Eddie passed by on his way to the bathroom, he overheard them talking.

“You know, Sonia, Eddie has grown into quite the handsome gentlemen. He looks more like Frank every day,” Aunt Hope said lightly. “One of these days he’s going to bring home a young woman and tell you that he wants to marry her.”

Sonia clicked her tongue and spoke firmly. “Oh, no one will ever be in love with Eddie. You know how sick he is, Hope. I can’t imagine anyone willingly submitting themselves to that burden. He can’t take care of himself. I’m his mother and all the love that he needs is from me. You think he’s handsome? I've always found him to be skinny and ugly.”

All of the medicine in the world did not help Eddie. He lay in bed and brooded. Maybe if Eddie had been able to relax and think about something else he could have felt better, but all he could think of was what could possibly be wrong. Every ache and muscle twinge was amplified, obsessed over and cataloged as a symptom of some greater illness. His chest twisted and tightened; his heart hammered in a way that resembled what Sonia had convinced Eddie were asthma attacks when he was younger. For a moment he wondered if an alien would burst out of his chest as it had to John Hurt. The muscles in his right arm felt like the nerve endings were being held over a flame. They felt tender. The tips of his fingers felt like they were being pricked by needles. Eddie considered going to the Student Health Center when he was able to leave his dorm room but soon resolved that would only lead to a confirmation of his weakness. 

During a visit to the bathroom, Eddie caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was without a right arm. The apparition was so real that Eddie racked his brain to remember when he lost the arm. When he looked down and saw his right arm over the sink it didn’t seem real. He spent an entire minute moving his hand around and feeling it before Eddie accepted that it wasn’t a hallucination. Fear traveled up his throat like vomit. He nearly choked on it. His breath came out in hard, ragged spurts. The fear overwhelmed him. He drowned in it. 

It was a sort of spiritual fear; fear of the unknown. He had no faith in his body and his ability to translate its signals. A twinge could be nothing or cancer. Eddie had no idea. He was afraid to be himself. He was nothing but a weak boy who should listen to his mother. 

His legs were weak and wobbly, but slowly, gingerly Eddie made his way back to his bed. When he crawled back in, he lay stiffly, his arms locked at his side. A thick black tar percolated through Eddie’s bloodstream. He knew the tar was there, he felt it. He felt it eating away at his insides like a parasite. At this very moment the tar was rotting away at his arm; turning it black and withered. The skin would shrivel until it looked like beef jerky. It would fall off in great strips, leaving a gaping open wound covered in pustules. Inevitably, Eddie’s arm would fall off. Eddie’s body had always been a house made of decaying wood and so it was only a matter of time before it collapsed in on itself. It was a foregone conclusion. 

Four hours later, Bryan Swarling knocked politely on Eddie’s dorm room door. After receiving no reply, Bryan knocked again. This time louder. 

“Yes? What is it?” Called a pitiful, scratchy voice. 

Bryan opened the door to find a most unusual sight. In the dark of his room, Eddie lay on the floor, moaning and sighing loudly. An ace bandage had been wrapped around his right arm. Beside him was a bottle of ibuprofen and a well-worn copy of “Wall & Melzack’s Textbook of Pain”.

“Are you all right?” Bryan asked, kind and concerned. He wondered if he remembered anything from the first aid course he took as a boy scout. 

“I don’t feel well,” Eddie answered matter-of-factly. 

Once Bryan ascertained that Eddie was not injured physically or in immediate danger, any sense of concern left. This seemed like a regular Friday Night for Eddie Kaspbrak. Being reasonably more observant than the average twenty-year-old male and living two doors down from Eddie he noticed that the former was sick often. “Maybe, he should just permanently move into the Health Center and save everyone some trouble,” Bryan joked to some friends soon after Eddie had his monthly pneumonia scare.

“Well, make sure to get a lot of rest. There’s a phone call for you. They said it was an emergency.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. It was always an emergency with his mother. Last week she called him after reading an article in a grocery store tabloid about a rat infestation on a college campus in Michigan. She spent three hours trying to convince Eddie to drop out and come home to get away from the dirty, diseased rats. A month earlier Sonia tried to convince Eddie to return to Derry, Maine to avoid an outbreak of diseased mosquitoes. That one almost worked before a nurse at the Health Center was able to calm Eddie down. What was it this time?

The idea to ignore the phone call never crossed Eddie’s mind. He thanked Bryan for letting him know and heavily stood up from the floor. The fog cleared from Eddie’s mind, but his chest continued to tighten like a clamp. An anvil sat on his lungs.

A pearl white rotary phone sat on a coffee table at the end of the hallway. It had been bought by the house mother in 1946 and had not yet been replaced. The walls of the hall were covered by a paisley wallpaper from the ’70s and the floor was a deep carpet of orange and banana yellow stripes.

There’s a moment in every horror movie when the virginal, tomboyish Final Girl reaches out to open a door. There’s a long close up as her hand reaches out for the doorknob. Behind the door stands the source of evil that had been attacking her throughout the movie. It’s waiting patiently for her. She knows that. The audience knows that. Yet, she still opens that damn door.

In the same manner, Eddie reached for the phone. His hand shook and dread filled his soul.

“Hello?”  
  
“Eddie. Some-something horrible has happened.” And the voice cut off with a wracking sob.

It wasn’t Sonia Kaspbrak on the phone. It took a moment for Eddie to place the high, fluttery voice on the other end. It was Barbara Glauser, Sonia’s younger sister, and closest friend. Throughout Eddie’s childhood, Barbara lived in Hampden, which was thirty miles from Derry. Sonia and Eddie spent most holidays and a week in June with her. Having never married Barbara lived by herself in a cramped single-story house that had been built in the 1920s. It was drowned in cleaning supplies that smelled of almonds and covered in lace doilies. During his stays, Eddie was stuffed with dry sugar cookies and left with ring-shaped indents on his cheek from where Barbara pinched him.

Three years earlier when Sonia’s health began to decline and Barbara made some bad investments, she moved into the Kaspbrak home. The introduction of a third party into the stagnant Kaspbrak world threw Eddie through a loop. In small doses, he had been able to handle Aunt Barbara, but living with her was grating. She was mawkish and gushy in her interactions with him, petting Eddie nearly as often as Sonia did. “Between the two of them, it seems like I get asked what I’m doing every time I fucking breathe,” Eddie complained to his group of friends. Barbara hugged him often and casually touched him during conversations more often than Eddie would like. He did not like to be touched. Eddie never voiced his disgruntlement to his mother. 

Barbara was stout and silver-haired with tiny feet that were incongruous to her weight. Her face was fleshy, lined and wrinkled, with pink cheeks that flushed at the slightest provocation, milky blue eyes, and a button nose. She had a heart that fluttered at any excitement and she coddled it shamelessly. 

She worried herself sick. The slightest amount of stress would send her into tears. She had no ear for sarcasm or irony. On more than occasion, Barbara took a joke that Eddie made as gospel truth and then when she discovered the truth accused him of lying and purposefully misleading her. More than anything else Barbara loved gossip. She had an overwhelming need to know what everyone was doing and peppered personal questions into every interaction. At the dinner table, she would give Sonia and Eddie the rundown on all of their neighbor’s daily lives in a harmless, childlike way. Sonia found it fascinating and Eddie annoying. Barbara had no head for names, dates, and places. She frequently confused the participants in one Derry drama for the participants in another. Everyone loved her, spoiled her like a child and only Sonia took her seriously.

“Aunt Barbara, what are you talking about? What happened?” questioned Eddie.

Aunt Barbara sniffed, hiccuped and let out a last bleating sob. “It’s your mother, Eddie. This morning…this morning she had a- she had a heart attack. It was so fast. One-one moment we were…we were just eating some cake that I made for her…and the next she was lying on the ground. Her face was so red. And-and-and…. oh, Eddie, she’s dead. I-I’m so sorry.”

Eddie inhaled sharply, air filling his lungs. “Okay. What do you need me to do?” He asked, his voice distant and quiet.

“Well, I’ll need your help planning the funeral. You’re coming home. You shouldn’t even think of being anywhere else. I can’t even imagine the pain that you’re feeling right now. It’ll help to be home.” Barbara cut off with a sob. After her fit was concluded she wailed, “Eddie, I need you. I’m not strong enough to do this myself.”

Eddie began speaking gingerly, as though he was stepping through a minefield. “Aunt Barbara, I’m sorry, but… I’m in New York. I have a test tomorrow. If I leave now, I won’t be able to come back and take my finals.”

The sobbing was replaced by a sharp, stinging voice. “Edward Dale Kaspbrak, I cannot believe you would even think that let alone say it. That was the most awful thing I have ever heard. Your mother died today. Your mother. The woman who gave birth to you. You are absolutely coming home. I won’t hear anything different.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for reading. A point of clarification before we get going. All of the events of IT: Chapter One happened more or less the same. Afterward, there was no curse and the Losers didn't forget because I am not about that life. None of their families moved out of Derry. I'm going to be drawing from the book and the movies. For example, Will and Jessica Hanlon are alive.  
> I'm excited to share this with you, but also extremely nervous. I have a lot of this written and so, at least for now, updates will be fairly regular.  
> This first chapter is table-setting, but please be patient because things will pick up.  
> Please, please, please leave a review. I would love to hear your thoughts. You can also drop a line on tumblr @cariebishop


	2. Chapter 2

The greyhound bus from New York City to Derry, Maine left the following morning at 4:30. Eddie arrived at the New York City greyhound station near the last possible second to buy his ticket. He walked down the aisle of the bus trying to determine which of the blue upholstered seats was the least grimy. It was the walk of a man on his way to the electric chair. He found a relatively clean-looking seat in the back and sat down placing his suitcase next to him to prevent someone from sitting next to him. Besides him, the coach was empty, for which Eddie was supremely grateful.

He pulled out a paperback mystery novel and tried to read but found it impossible to concentrate. His mind flittered away like a hummingbird. His emotions, the black tar in his chest, were overwhelming. He wondered how people would react if he told them he felt nothing regarding his mother’s death. It felt as though it had happened to someone else. It was like she was a character on a television show that had been killed off. He did not feel the way that he imagined someone whose mother had just died would feel and that scared him. Was he a sociopath?

Staring out of the window Eddie watched the sunrise and light up the countryside. A raven flew by. When Aunt Barbara first told him the news Eddie had not felt any grief or even a twinge of sadness. As horrible as it sounds, he felt free. A sense of hope had sprung up inside his heart. Eddie’s mind raced with all of the things he was going to do now, all of the things he could be. His first thought had been, “Now, I can take those tennis lessons I’ve always wanted,” Then Aunt Barbara dealt the death blow. She ordered him to come home and Eddie was unable to say no. Her accusations pierced deep in his heart and Eddie needed to prove to himself that they weren’t true.  
  
As the bus crept closer to Derry, the dread that had lived in his heart since Aunt Barbara’s phone call strengthened. Oh, how he hated himself for saying yes to her. It was like a Pavlovian response within himself whenever a family member asked him for anything. He did not have the courage to even consider not doing their bidding. Eddie was a weak boy without the strength to know what it is he should do without being told.

The idea of a criminal returning to the scene of the crime has become so ubiquitous in society that it’s a cliché. The criminal has such a compulsion to return that he’s powerless to control the desire. It’s like the criminal and crime scene are two separate attractive forces of a magnet. Eddie felt similarly impotent in the face of this trajectory. There was nothing he could do to stop his return to Derry. There was a predetermined inevitability to the whole situation. As soon as Eddie got a little happiness it was dragged out from under him and thrown away. The town wanted him back in. There was nothing he could do to stop it, only hope that his destruction was as swift and painless as possible. Robert Frost said, “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in,” In Eddie’s experience it was also the place where when you got there, they would never let you leave.

The bus arrived at the Greyhound terminal in Derry at three in the afternoon. Eddie took his time getting off, almost moving in slow motion to grab his belongings. Four people disembarked from the bus and Eddie was the last one to step off. He looked up from the pavement and his eyes scanned the parking lot. In the northwest corner of the parking lot sat a bar called The Falcon. It was a small black and gold building with a sign that bore its avian namesake. When the establishment had opened in 1982, Sonia had been livid.

“I just won’t stand for it,” Eddie remembered her shouting over the phone to one of her friends from church. “I just won’t. Whatever they do in private is their own business, but I won’t have them parading it anywhere near me. Deviant, that’s what it is. What will it do to the community? This is only the beginning of trying to turn Derry into a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah, I tell you.”

The bar had always held a strange fascination over Eddie, but he had never even dared look at it for too long. Repulsion and interest swirled inside of him and left a nauseous pit in the bottom of his stomach. It did not bode well that that was the first thing he saw in Derry.

A horn honked behind him. In a parking spot sat an ugly, old green station wagon that Eddie recognized. Through the tinted windows, he saw Aunt Barbara sitting in the driver’s seat. Eddie prepared himself for whatever was going to come and made his way over. After throwing his bags in the trunk he opened the passenger door.

“Hello, Aunt Barbara,” he said in a small voice, with a perfunctory smile in her direction.

Aunt Barbara took her hands that had been nervously rapping the steering wheel and enveloped him in a crushing hug. Words that were supposed to be reassuring and comforting were cooed into his ear. Eddie was distracted by the spittle that she projected.

“It’s good to see you too,” He choked out. He gave her a weak pat on the back and pulled away.

Eddie spoke to her in a soft and placating voice, all reassurances that everything was all right and that he would take care of the funeral. It was the same slightly condescending tone that one would use on a small child or a pet, but it was effective on Aunt Barbara. After a deep, shuttering breath the sobs subsided, Barbara turned the key and began the drive to the Kaspbrak house. Talking calmed her nerves and so she chatted aimlessly, flittering from one idea to another like a bird. Eddie gave appropriate “hmm” at times, but the words that she spoke didn’t register. Instead, they drifted through his ears as his mind wandered and he stared out the window.

Derry was overcast and as the drive progressed it began to drizzle. The clouds overhead were charcoal gray and thick, almost bulbous. They were like the clouds in a fairy tale that signify that an evil spell had been cast over the kingdom. It gave everything that it touched a dreary sheen, drying out all of the colors. It was dark with something much more than the clouds.

Eddie’s first thought was surprise at how much had changed in the nine months since he had left. A huge section of naturally growing trees and bushes had been removed from Bassey Park along the Kenduskeag River and park benches had been put in its place. A bike lane had been added to Main Street. Bailey’s Lunch, a Mom and Pop diner, had been closed and a sign proclaimed that an apartment building was going to be built in its place. The Bijou, the dollar movie theater, where Eddie and his friends snuck in to see “Terminator 2: Judgement Day” had been replaced by a parking lot. There was a sign explaining that the Laundromat owned by the Gaffigan’s was closing on May 22nd and thanking everyone for their patronage. Telephone poles were covered in campaign posters. One was of an intense and serious-looking man looking stern and straight-faced. It read “Join Warburton for a Better Derry”. They were vastly outnumbered by the campaign posters that proclaimed, “I Believe in Robin Elway” above a photo of a handsome man with the looks of a Matinee Idol; dark hair and a toothy smile. The building that had housed the shoe store The Shoeboat was empty. Costello Avenue Market had recently closed. The Corner Street Deli was gone. True Gentlemen’s Custom Suits where Eddie rented his tuxedo for prom was now an apartment building. Eddie had a vague notion that if he traveled further into the town, he would find more stores, shops, and restaurants missing. Plots that had been empty throughout all of Eddie’s childhood were now filled by apartment buildings. The houses and buildings that stood had become dull, the paint faded and flaking. 

Until August of the previous year Eddie had never lived anywhere but Derry. He had been born in Derry Home Hospital and lived in the same house at the corner of Kensington and Wilmore. Maybe he would even die here. His entire childhood had been lived under a curtain of fear. They passed Keene’s Pharmacy where Eddie found out The Secret. It hadn’t just been that, it had been Bowers and his gang, it had been the teasing about his asthma and hypochondria, the hateful, homophobic graffiti on the Kissing Bridge, it had been Derry itself.

The Summer that Eddie didn’t think about only brought things to the surface, things that always been here and maybe always would. Nothing that the Losers had done had changed anything. The Evil still lingered in the town and permeated out of every surface. It was curiously tangible, pushing down and suffocating everything it touched. It infected everything, like Sleepy Hollow’s Headless Horseman that could not escape the city limits. Once you stepped out of Derry you were fine, but inside you didn’t stand a chance. Had it infected Eddie?

Derry had always been good at cultivating a veneer of normalcy, but it seemed as though the mask had been chipped off. The weight of pretense had been too strong, and it had begun to break. Perhaps the Evil had grown. Perhaps Derry had given up and stopped fighting.

The rain strengthened and began to pelt the car. They drove underneath a banner that had been tied between two street lamps and hung over Derry’s Center Street like a cross. It advertised the Canal Days Festival over the Fourth of July Weekend. Barbara turned the radio from an Alanis Morrissette song to talk radio. If Eddie had been paying attention to her, he would have heard his Aunt talking about Robin Elway, the newly elected town mayor.

“He’s very handsome. I said to Gail Kirby, ‘I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if he doesn’t look like Kennedy.’ She said I was crazy. We went back and forth until finally, I had to find an encyclopedia with a picture of Kennedy in it. We went and help up the picture up against a campaign poster that was on a telephone pole. It’s not just the looks, but the general auras are the same. Mayor Elway has some great ideas, Eddie. He’s not like those other politicians who just use five-dollar words to trick us and then do whatever he wants. I believe him. He loves this town and is going to fix it. It’s been going down the drain ever since the mill shut down. You heard about that right, Eddie?”

Eddie stared at her for a moment and sighed. “Aunt Barbara, the mill closed two years ago.” 

Aunt Barbara sniffed and turned her attention to the road.

The Kaspbrak house was at the top of a hill on the corner where Kensington Avenue and Wilmore Street met. It was a compact and rather small Victorian foursquare that had been built in 1896 under the direction of Eddie’s Great-Great-Grandfather Homer Kaspbrak, an eccentric with a love of architecture. He had made a fortune owning several shops, but lost it through a lack of business acumen, bum luck and bad investments. He had been drawing up the plans when he lost the money and so consolidations and shortcuts were made. It looked like a house that had been grand and large but then shrunk in the wash. It had a wrap-around porch and a Widows walk where Eddie sat and did homework in the spring or read in the summer. Cupolas jutted out of the gabled roof. Ivy curled its way over the wood frames of the dwelling. Since the death of Frank Kaspbrak when Eddie was seven the home had fallen into a state of disrepair. But the charm and sincerity of Homer Kaspbrak’s original vision was able to shine through the faded paint and chipped shingles.

With a shaky hand Aunt Barbara unlocked the door and let Eddie in first. The sound of the rain drowned out the creak of the door hinges. Eddie’s arms were stuffed with the suitcases and he was constantly having to juggle them to keep balance. It was hard to see over. Cautiously, he took small steps over the threshold and into the entrance hall of the house. The entrance hall was small and narrow with a high ceiling. If you stood right in the middle of the doorway it would seem as though the walls were sloping together into a v shape and closing in on you. A tacky, small Tiffany’s chandelier that was the same purple as a grape hung from the middle of the ceiling. When the light was turned on it cast a purple hue onto everything in the hall.

Aunt Barbara stepped inside after Eddie.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been up for cleaning. There haven’t been many other visitors lately,” she apologized.

“No problem, Aunt Barbara,” he said softly.

Eddie set his suitcases on the ground with a sigh of relief. He then found the light switch on the wall and flipped it on. The switch was behind a vase full of red tulips that sat on a drum table and tried to distract from the ugly wall paper. Eddie had never been able to determine whether the design was made up of strawberries or roses. It was so faded and gummed up by grease and dust that it was impossible to get a clear picture.

Eddie looked around the entry hall and into the living room. It was the original design by Homer Kaspbrak, mahogany wood panels and floorboards, scallops carved along the boiserie. The beauty of the room was hidden underneath dirt, dust and stains. Sonia had very rarely cleaned. The original antique furniture had been replaced by Sonia after Frank died with cheap, plastic pieces from a Target in Bangor. All of the furniture was still covered by Sonia’s belongings; newspapers, unfolded laundry, bills and letters, boxes. A jar of Jolly Ranchers that had been set out two years ago sat on the coffee table.

Eddie’s eyes were drawn to the photos on the mantelpiece; Eddie’s senior class photo in a gold frame, Sonia and Eddie at a photographer’s studio, the four Glauser sisters in a backyard. In the middle was a photo of Sonia. It had been taken ten years ago on the front porch. It was a portrait with her smiling and staring right down the barrel of the camera. Authoritative, cold shark eyes that followed no matter where you were standing. Eddie looked away before he made eye contact.

“You have no idea how glad I am that you’re back,” Barbara whimpered as she walked up beside him. “The house just isn’t the same without your mom. One moment she was here and the next she’s gone. You know what’s funny? Sometimes I honestly forget that she’s not with us and I think she’s in another room. I stop and listen for her and just wait for her to come in.”

Eddie had heard that exact speech on a television movie a week earlier.

“I’m sure it’s been hard for you,” he offered weakly.

Aunt Barbara snorted in an unladylike manner, “You can say that again. It’s my sister I’m burying, and I’ve been all alone to shoulder this burden. I’m under a great deal of stress. I can’t believe the nerve of some people. The things they’ve said to me, you wouldn’t believe. It seems as though there’s a city-wide conspiracy to remind me of my loss as often as possible. You have no idea how glad I am that you’re back. You can help me. This is what Sonia would have wanted. She never said anything, but I know that it broke her heart that you left. If I’m being honest, you abandoned her. The unmitigated gall of your rebellion shocks me. I can’t believe that you did that. I would never have dared to leave my mother when she was in such a delicate condition. I would imagine that if you hadn’t abandoned her you could have helped your mother when she became sick. Your mother never wanted you to go to college and I quite agree with her.”

Eddie stared at the floor and was silent for a moment before speaking. “It seems everyone does,” he muttered.

Aunt Barbara puffed out her chest, “And they’re right. You know, once the Bald Eagle builds a nest it stays in one place for the rest of its life. There’s no shame in that, Eddie. Oftentimes, it’s what’s best. Nine times out of ten, mark my words. You need to put down roots. I can see you becoming a responsible and dependable member of the community. That’s what I want for you. Derry is a fine place.”

She gave him a pat on the back that was meant to be reassuring and warm. She linked her arm around his and led Eddie into the kitchen. She had made tuna fish sandwiches earlier in the morning. Eddie's least favorite food in the world was tuna. He couldn’t even stand being in the same room as the smell. After weighing his options, he came to the conclusion that there was no way that he could turn down the food without causing a scene. Eddie had said no to Aunt Barbara’s food before and he didn’t want to deal with that again. It had been the same with his mother. One time when he was eleven his mother had made a tuna noodle casserole for dinner. After taking a bite Eddie found it difficult to not spit it back out and informed his mother that he didn’t want anymore. Sonia yelled at him so loudly that Eddie burst into tears and had a panic attack after he was sent to his room.

Taking all of this into consideration, Eddie sat down at the small kitchen table and heavily swallowed down a tuna fish sandwich as Aunt Barbara chattered on. Daintily biting down on her own sandwich, Aunt Barbara filled Eddie in on the goings-on of various Derry residents. The Dupree’s youngest daughter, Denise, got married two weeks ago to an accountant from Castle Rock. They still had four daughters that were unmarried and living at home, but the parents were hopeful that this was a necessary kick in the pants. Sally Mueller had recently gotten engaged to a Yale Law Student. It was a quick engagement and many people believed a shotgun was being held to certain foreheads, but Aunt Barbara didn’t put any stock in those rumors. The Cole’s oldest son Michael stopped going to Sunday Services a month ago and Mrs. Cole was absolutely beside herself. The McKinney’s had bought a boat that they kept parked in front of their home. This upset their neighbor Old Man Van der Leeuwen who said that the boat obstructed the curb in front of his house, and he was unable to park his car there. There were yelling matches on the sidewalk. They avoided each other at the supermarket. Mr. Van der Leeuwen retaliated by digging up Mrs. McKinney’s prized Marigolds and leaving them in the gutter. Mrs. McKinney had him blackballed out of the Nero Country Club. Mr. McKinney and Mr. Van der Leeuwen got into a fistfight at the Jade of the Orient Chinese Restaurant. Derry residents gleefully took sides on the dispute. For the record, Aunt Barbara was on Mr. Van der Leeuwen’s side. It had not yet gone to court, but she predicted that it soon would be.

In the same way that hummingbirds’ flitter between flowers Aunt Barbara bounced from one piece of gossip to another. She spoke breathlessly, urgently, as though all of these stories were of national importance. Aunt Barbara spoke in such a way that it seemed as though it didn’t matter to her whether Eddie was listening or not. She just wanted to hear herself speak.

“When was the last time you saw your little friends, Eddie?” Aunt Barbara asked suddenly.

At that moment, the grandfather clock in the hallway went off, chiming The Westminster Quarters.

“Why? Why are you wondering?” Eddie asked, bewilderedly. 

“Answer the question, if you please.” 

Eddie paled and looked down at his hands. His voice was embarrassed when he spoke. “When did I last see them? It was… the night before graduation, the last time we were all together. We don’t exactly go to the same colleges.” 

“The best thing for us to do is be open and honest with one another. Honesty is everything to me. I’m just going to lay all of the cards down on the table. ” Aunt Barbara said piously. “I know they were your friends, but I think that’s for the best.” 

“I don’t think you know the whole situation— ” 

Aunt Barbara shot Eddie a pinched look as though she was looking at dog droppings on the bottom of her shoe. “ Please, do not interrupt me, Eddie. You were taught better manners than that. I know enough. Your mother would call me up sobbing about the bad influence your friends were on you. The horror stories she told. You’re such a nice boy, Eddie. What do you even see in them?” Eddie was too stunned to answer. Aunt Barbara took the silence as concurring and continued. “I’m concerned about you. I don’t you to go down a bad path. Who was responsible for your broken arm? Your friends. Your mother repeatedly asked you not to see them and what did you do? Defy her, time and time again. The disrespect, I can’t believe. I would never have even thought of treating my mother the way you do. It may be hard to hear, but I’m glad you're not spending time with those friends. It’s what your mother would have wanted. ” 

Eddie bit his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Aunt Barbara.” 

She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “I love you. Your mother loved you.”

Eddie sat there for a moment, silent and flushed. He spoke cautiously. “Aunt Barbara, I’m tired after all of that traveling. I’m going to go upstairs and take a nap. Thanks for the sandwich.”

“Oh, my goodness, of course, of course,” Aunt Barbara said, standing up and giving him a quick hug. “I’m so happy that you’re here.”

Eddie grabbed his suitcases from the living room and made his way up steep winder stairs. Eddie’s room was at the top of the stairs. It was considerably smaller than the other bedrooms in the house and it was theorized to have been designed as a servant quarter. Its ceiling was low and covered by beams and mortises. Eddie’s bed protruded from the eastern wall and was covered by a thick pumpkin orange quilt that he had since the third grade. Beside it sat a roll-top desk that had belonged to Eddie’s grandfather. It was almost as though Eddie was Alice stepping into the White Rabbit’s house. Everything seemed so much smaller than he remembered.

Eddie was not lying when he told his aunt that he was tired, but it was an extremely convenient excuse. As Eddie unpacked his suitcase his mind wandered around, but he tried not to think about what his aunt had said and how angry he was. He didn’t think about Richie Tozier. Eddie focused his thoughts on his other friends.

The Losers Club had not all been together since the last day of July nearly a year ago. Richie threw a party for Stanley Uris the day before he left for Buffalo, New York to attend New York State University. It had not been a melancholy or emotional party. In fact, it had been a run of the mill affair; the same as any of the hundreds of gatherings the Losers had over the years. There was no feeling of finality or a need to say goodbye. They would all see each other again. Eddie remembered sitting on the couch and looking out over the Tozier’s living room. Mike Hanlon and Beverly Marsh were dancing to Boyz II Men. Richie had trapped Ben Hanscom in the corner of the room and was trying out a stand-up routine on him. Eddie couldn’t hear it over the music. Stan was sitting beside him on the couch flipping through a bird guide that the Losers had gotten him. Bill had been dancing for a while but now was curled up on a rocking chair with a rum and coke. Eddie looked them over and thought in as clear and vibrant a voice as ever, “I love all of these people. They’re going to be in my life forever.” His heartfelt warm and full. Eddie wondered if it was going to overflow from all of the love.

Eddie had received several letters from Ben. While Ben was extremely studying Architecture at a Polytechnic in California, he had found the time to write letters that Eddie replied back too. They spoke on the phone twice during the semester. They were not very deep conversations, but enough that they were aware of significant events in the others' life. While he and Stan were both in New York, they were eight hours away from each other. They were able to meet up on New Year’s Eve after Eddie convinced Sonia that he had the flu and wouldn’t be able to come home. Mike and Eddie wrote to each other fairly often and Eddie had called once when he had a question about Mad Cow Disease. Bill called him once to tell Eddie about a short story he wrote being published in “The New England Journal of Literature”. Richie had only sent one postcard last September telling Eddie about how much he loved California. Eddie hadn’t the courage to reply or ask their friends about him. Beverly had sent him the number for her dorm at the University of Chicago and Eddie had called but no one had answered. Eddie hoped that they weren’t drifting away from each other and things could still be the same as before they all left for college.

After a long, hot shower Eddie went to bed. Though it was the bed that he had slept in since the age of three, he hadn’t even seen it in nine months. It took his body a while to acclimate, as though it was a hotel room bed. Eddie’s body was now unused to the lumps and bumps of the mattress. It felt different to his back than the one in his dorm room. He was homesick for that small room at the top of the dorm house. Eddie tossed and turned and re-fluffed his pillow for almost an hour before he was able to fall asleep.

The sleep that he got was not refreshing. He dreamt that he was standing in an empty hallway of white marble. When Eddie tried to move it was though he was glued to the floor. His feet were as heavy as lead, they wouldn’t even budge. His muscles were paralyzed. Eddie tried to scream but it got caught someplace in the middle of his throat and no sound came out. A thick rope was tried around his waist. At the other end of the hall stood his mother. She was holding the other end of the rope. Slowly, she pulled him closer to her. There was nothing Eddie could do to stop it, no way to get out of her grasp. She was going to eat him. When Eddie woke up the next morning it took him a full minute to remember that he was not at Wagner College.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!! Please leave a kudo and a comment. I would absolutely love to hear what you thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Sonia Kaspbrak’s funeral was three days later. Eddie spoke to the necessary individuals and made all of the arrangements. Every time he asked Aunt Barbara for an opinion she burst into tears. Eddie figured it was a stalling tactic, but he didn’t have the energy or the particular desire to fight that particular battle and let her get away with it. Her grief was deep and sincere, but it was caught up in the performative aspects. Aunt Barbara worried herself sick over what other people thought. Eddie did all of the planning without complaint. Many of the townspeople that saw Eddie during this time spoke admiringly about how strong he was to carry on despite so great a loss.

It rained the day of Sonia’s funeral. It was overcast all morning and began to drizzle as the priest said, “Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.” Aunt Barbara was secretly pleased with this development. It added solemnity and importance to the proceedings that it wouldn’t have had otherwise. It always rained during funerals in the novels that she had read. Father Gilroy, from Sonia’s church, conducted the service. A recent enrollment to the priesthood, Father Gilroy was a small, blonde-haired man with an unfortunate resemblance to a water-logged otter. It was evident from the way he stammered and stumbled over the words that he had never conducted a funeral service before. 

The funeral was not a packed house. Several members of the church showed up, but Eddie suspected that had more to do with inspecting the priest than mourning Sonia. Mrs. Van Prett, the Kaspbrak’s neighbor, and Sonia’s great friend, wore an ill-fitting dress from Shopko and dabbed at her eyes with a crusty handkerchief. None of the Kaspbraks’ attended, but Eddie hadn’t expected them too. He hadn’t seen anyone from that side of the family since his father’s death. Still, he found himself disappointed. Aunt Hope and Aunt Gloria from Haven put in an appearance. Right in the center of the front row was Aunt Barbara, carrying on magnificently. She was sobbing, wailing and sniffling. He was surprised that she didn’t try to throw herself onto the casket.  
  
Next to her stood Eddie, tall, stiff and awkward, with his hands clasped tightly in front of himself. There was nowhere else that Eddie could have stood without causing people to talk. Imagine the commotion that would have ensued if Eddie stood in the back. Aunt Barbara would not have stood for it. It was bad enough that he didn’t cry.  
  
While the priest spoke about life after death, Eddie’s attention was drawn to the casket. The lid was open, and Sonia’s face was positioned right in front of him. His body hummed and tensed itself up as though it was preparing to be attacked. Nausea swirled around his stomach. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. If this was a movie the camera would iris in on Sonia and the rest of the frame would be pitch black. Nothing else was able to penetrate Eddie’s focus.  
  
Eddie looked over Sonia’s cold, unmoving face and took in every detail. He was surprised to find the same features that he saw every time he looked in the mirror. He only saw the similarities. He and Sonia had the same hair and eye color, the same upturned tip of the nose, the same mole underneath the right side of the jaw. Eddie’s heart plummeted when he realized that if he gained a hundred and sixty pounds, they would look exactly the same.

Sonia was Eddie’s mother, there was no way to get around that. Her blood flowed through Eddie’s veins. She grew the splinters of his bones and filled them with marrow. Sonia was inside of him like a cancer, passing herself on and growing. They had been connected by an umbilical cord and during his dark nights of the soul, he questioned whether it had truly been cut. If it hadn’t, there was nothing in the world that he wanted more.

To put it broadly, Sonia taught Eddie how to be a person. Through her example and the instructions and corrections that Sonia gave him as he was growing up, Eddie learned how to treat others. She instilled values in him, taught him what was important about life. Sonia cooked for him, did his laundry, reminded him to take his medicine. Eddie had fooled himself into thinking he could take care of himself, but, oh how reliant he was on his mother. Nausea in his stomach turned into self-loathing. She had poisoned him.

A memory came to Eddie’s mind. The summer between Junior and Senior Year the Losers went on a hike up Great Pond Mountain in Orland. At the top of the mountain, there was a breathtaking view of the valley, full of Maple trees. The Losers found a shady spot along the overlook and sat down for lunch. As the others ate Richie wandered over to the precipice and gazed out. Eddie looked up and saw how close Richie was to the ledge. His heart began to pound like the engine of a locomotive.

“Richie, get away from there,” Eddie snapped. His voice was shaking, but he tried his best to make it as adamant and uncompromising as possible. The image of Richie tumbling over the edge of the cliff was crystal clear in Eddie’s mind.

He continued, “Richie, get away from there, please. Richie, Richie, Richie, I mean it. You could fall. Get away from there. Richie.”

Richie assured Eddie that he was perfectly fine and didn’t move like he had been asked. Eddie asked over and over again until Richie made a stupid joke and it devolved into shouts and insults. Eddie said horrible, hateful things to Richie, things that looking back filled his heart with guilt. Eventually, Ben stepped in and talked Eddie into turning around so he wouldn’t see Richie’s relationship to the edge of the cliff. They weren’t allowed to speak to each other for the rest of the day.

Looking back at the incident, Eddie was able to hear the words that he said. They were the same that Sonia used to scold him. He used exact quotes. Eddie worried because Sonia had taught him that that was something to be anxious about. His reaction was because that’s how he had learned to express anxiety. The instances were too numerous to count where he nagged and insulted his friends when they didn’t do what he wanted. A sob tore out of Eddie’s throat as he stood in front of Sonia’s casket and saw his future. He might as well start gaining the extra pounds because it was an inevitability. God forbid Eddie to have kids because they would be raised the same way that Sonia treated him.

After the funeral, Eddie shook everyone’s hand while wearing a tight, gracious smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He received too many hugs for his taste from white-haired old women that he had never spoken to before in his life. The funeral-goers slowly disbursed, until only Eddie and Aunt Barbara were left at the gravesite.

“Well, I think that went very well, don’t you?” questioned Aunt Barbara as she opened her umbrella and held it over her head.

Eddie nodded. It was a funeral, not a garden party and so he found that to be a weird question.

“Yes, Aunt Barbara.”

His aunt hooked her arm through his elbow, and they began to stroll away from the grave. Thunder clapped overhead.

She continued, “I do hope that Father Gilroy gets better. The poor dear. I was too embarrassed to listen to his service. The way that he stuttered certain words grated on my nerves. I couldn’t stand it. Perhaps he just needs some practice. Writing down your speech and practicing it in front of a mirror works wonders. If he ever deigned to ask me for advice that’s what I would recommend. As you know Eddie, I don’t give bad advice. Mrs. Kirby came. Did you see that? Wasn’t that nice of her? Her dress was hideous, but she tries so hard. I feel bad for her. Now, Mrs. Benson, that was a pretty dress. Too green for my taste, but objectively I can say that it was a nice dress. Some people can pull off that shade.”

Eddie “hmmed” and nodded at the appropriate moments to keep up the charade that he was interested in what Aunt Barbara was saying.

“Aunt Barbara,” he sighed, making his voice soft and weary. “I think…I need to spend some time alone with her. I-I want to say goodbye. Is that all right? Not very long, I promise.”

Aunt Barbara kissed him on the cheek and pulled the collar of his jacket closer together as though it was a noose. “Oh, my dear, of course. Take all of the time you need. I’ll see you home for dinner.”

“Of course.”

With another kiss, Aunt Barbara whirled around and began to wind her way through the gravestones. Unmoving, hands in his pockets, Eddie watched her. From his vantage point he had a clear view of his Aunt’s station wagon. It was only when she was in the car and had peeled away that Eddie allowed himself to breathe. After a beat to put more distance between himself and the car, Eddie turned away. He walked past the gravesite without sparing it a second glance. He headed towards the woods that did its best the graveyard away from Derry.

Eddie wandered around Derry without a destination in mind. He pounded down the streets that he had walked down a million times before. These were the streets where he learned to ride a bike, where Henry Bowers had broken his arm, where he had raced with his friends, where he had walked every day for eighteen years. 

Eddie hated Derry with every fiber of his being. Any place that allowed such evil to fester as Derry did was a hell of earth. For the longest time, Eddie couldn’t look at an adult without wondering what they knew about the Clown and what they could have done to stop it. Without realizing, Eddie would walk as far from the sewer grates as he could get. He wouldn’t walk within three blocks of Neibolt Street if you paid him a million dollars. The tiniest whiff of garbage would make him gag. Those who knew him wrote this off as his germaphobia, but it wasn’t. In a secret chamber of his heart Eddie knew that other towns were not like Derry. Other people did not live as he did. He held onto the hope that he would someday be able to see what the world truly was like outside of killer clowns and being locked inside his bedroom for not taking medicine. He was tired of staring out his window and waiting for things to happen.

Eddie had been able to see a small part of the world, his college campus, but just as soon as he had gotten a taste, he had been sucked back in to Derry. Despite that, Eddie had no ill-will in his heart. Instead of thinking about the horrid, evil things that happened on these streets he remembered the good. Perhaps enough time had passed, perhaps he was feeling nostalgic after being gone. Eddie didn’t know. Childhood memories flashed in his minds-eye like scrapbook pages being flipped. He remembered the moments with his friends. He passed a telephone pole that Bill Denbrough had run into on Silver when he first got that bike. As we walked by the library, he remembered studying in there with Mike Hanlon. He and Richie Tozier had gotten Ice Cream from Costello Street Market too many times to count. Eddie had taught Beverly Marsh how to drive stick on Old Cape Street. The familiarity was oddly comforting to him. If Eddie was blindfolded, he knew he would be able to find his way around Derry.  


The drizzle of rain continued to sprinkle down. The wind brought a nippy chill to the air. Eddie found the streets surprisingly vacant as apparently the Derry residents could not handle the elements. At another time the word “ghost town” would have come to Eddie’s mind. The sight of an empty Main Street would have frightened him. At this moment, however, Eddie found it oddly comforting. There was no one around who was going to tell him what to do or say. No one had any expectations for him. He didn’t have to perform for anybody. No one was going to look at Eddie and make inferences about him. There was no one that he had to exist for besides himself. Eddie felt quite certain that no one was even thinking about him. The feeling was liberating. For the first time in his life, his mother’s voice did not ring in his ears telling him that the rain would make him sick. While Eddie was not happy, the relief that he felt was palpable. As the water splattered onto his hair and clothes it felt baptismal.

Eddie strolled off the streets and into Bassey Park. He skirted around the edge of the park, passing by the baseball diamond where the games had been played growing up. The lined base paths that formed the baseball diamond had terribly faded for as long as Eddie could remember, but now they were nearly invisible. The bases were now gone. Weeds, dandelions, and grass overran the sand. It was covered with broken beer bottles and wrappers from fast-food restaurants. It appeared the baseball diamond had not been played on in a year or so, no one had touched it since the Losers left for college. Eddie was reminded of a fairy tale that his Kindergarten teacher read to the class. The Prince of a kingdom had a magical spell placed on him that prevented the castle from collapsing. As long as he was in the castle everything as fine, but in the end, when he left the castle walls it crumbled in on itself.

Entire summer days had been whiled away at the baseball diamond. The Losers played with a liveliness and vigor that belied their ramshackle surroundings. None of them knew that you weren’t supposed to pick out of the grass shards of beer bottles before playing. Their passion turned it into Fenway Park. Every swing of the bat was life and death. It encompassed and filled up their entire world. Children have the distinct ability to turn garbage into gold. Their imaginations make real diamonds and spaceships.  
  
Beverly had the best arm and held the record for most home runs. Stan played outfield, jumping for balls like a ballet dancer. Mike was reliant and competent in any position. Ben mostly played umpire but became a solid shortstop. Bill oversold his abilities and swung too hard at every ball. Richie was hopeless because he spent most of his energy on perfecting his “Announcer Voice”.

Eddie never played. His mother would have had a conniption if he even touched a baseball bat. Instead, he sat on the rickety bleachers and cheered his friends on. He indulged in his love for the sport by becoming an expert on baseball theory. He devoured every Bill James Annual. He became an encyclopedia of Baseball facts and trivia. He became extremely good at running for the foul balls. Eddie wished that if any children played at this baseball diamond again, they would never let their mothers give them inhalers full of water.

Eddie found himself feeling for a childhood that he never had. Perhaps, the childhood that had been meant for him and he was denied. After searching, to no avail, for a left-behind baseball to throw around, Eddie realized that no imagination was strong enough to change the past. He continued his way through the park.

A stage had been erected on the lawn behind the swimming pool. It was draped with garlands and a bunting that read “A BETTER, CLEANER DERRY” hung on the back of the stage. Technicians scurried around trying to figure out how to safely handle electric cords in the rain. Volunteers bustled around setting up a rostrum and folding chairs.

A crowd of a hundred people congregated around the stage. Men, women, and children were all drawn by the promise of spectacle. Several crowd members thought that it was a concert. Many of them knew it was a political speech and genuinely wanted to hear what the Mayor had to say. Political Activists had driven from other parts of Penobscot County to listen. A smaller conglomeration within that group couldn’t care less what the Mayor said but wanted to bask in the glow of his fame and importance. Once Mayor Elway stepped onto the stage many passersby stopped to look at him. The edge of the crowd was lined by protestors holding picket signs that read such things as, “ELWAY NO WAY” “KEEP YOUR PROMISES” “TELL THE TRUTH” “WHAT HAPPENED TO MY HOUSE ELWAY?” “CROOKED ELWAY CROOKED DEALS” “JOBS FOR ALL” and “I’M SO ANGRY I MADE A SIGN”.

Though the crowd was made up of all races, sexes and ages, they all had one thing in common. All wore a dimmed look. They had a dull countenance, as though the overcast clouds had seeped into their skin. There were no smiles, no light radiating from the eyes. They were unreal. They were ghosts. All of them stood in a depressed manner, with hunched over shoulders and downcast eyes that darted around furtively. Their faces were frightened and rabbity, searching out any sign of danger. It was as silent as a tomb. Even those that knew each other didn’t speak to one another.

All at once Eddie found himself in a sea of people. As a general rule, Eddie detested crowds. There were too many opportunities for strangers to touch him. He tried to find a way out, but he kept getting jostled and blocked. Saying “excuse me” was an exercise in futility. The person either wouldn’t even acknowledge that Eddie had said anything or there was no place for them to step out of Eddie’s way. He had been able to make his way to the center when Mayor Elway stepped onto the stage with his family and Eddie realized this was for a political speech. Curious about Mayor Elway and his plans for the future of Derry, Eddie decided to stay. Turning to face the stage, Eddie accidentally stepped on the foot of the man beside him.

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, young man,” The man said in a hurried and clipped intonation. His accent was foreign, but Eddie couldn’t place it. The man turned up the collar of his red slicker and turned away before Eddie could get a good look at him.

The Elway’s were as close to royalty as one could find in Derry. They were the town’s answer to the Kennedy’s. The Elway’s arrived in Derry township in 1756 with the second wave of settlers after the first mysteriously disappeared. In 1821 Randolph Elway Jr. started the first paper mill in Derry and made a fortune. The job opportunities brought more people into Derry and helped to codify it into a town. The Elway’s seemed to have been able to pass business acumen down through the genes. They had never been in danger of losing their considerable future, even enduring during the Great Depression. They were generous philanthropists and well-loved in the town.

Robin Elway was much more handsome in person than on his campaign poster. While beaming and waving to the crowd, he held the hand of his wife. Karen Elway was beautiful with a thin, towering body and wavy dark hair. While the Mayor was completely at ease and his smile was so wide that it threatened to split his face in half, Karen was in complete contrast. She was barely holding onto his hand and looked ready to bolt. It was painfully oblivious that she was ill at ease and wanted to be anywhere else. Behind them, two children waved and giggled. The boy, Noah, was eleven, with sandy brown hair and an endearing, crooked smile. He was going to grow up to be very handsome. Beside him his sister, Samantha, of years of age. She was as beautiful and delicate as a porcelain doll. She had slanted violet eyes and black hair curled into ringlets.

Behind the family sat many humorless men in black suits. A white-haired pot-bellied old fart stood up at the rostrum. In a deep, booming voice that made everything seem so serious it turned serious he introduced Mayor Elway. The town council member pontificated on and on about Elway’s accomplishments both as Mayor and before. 

“No one else loves Derry as much. No one else has its interests so close to his heart. Our town could not ask for a better Mayor. It is my distinct pleasure to Introduce your Mayor and mine, Robin Elway.” 

Elway jauntily jumped up from his seat as the crowd erupted into cheers. He and the town council member heartily shook hands and said some undistinguishable words to one another. After taking a deep breath, Elway stepped in front of the rostrum. After the considerable applause died down, his words became discernable. 

“Thank you for those kind words. Hello, everyone. I hope you’re all keeping warm.” 

And with that Mayor Robin Elway began his speech. It soon became evident that he was a captivating speaker. Eddie couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had a strong and melodic voice that as pleasing to listen to. Elway was bold and confident, but not arrogant. His smile was broad, but not cheesy. He had an unaffected, natural delivery that was more at home in a restaurant booth with a group of friends than a crowd of strangers. It drew you in like a snake charmer and made you feel like he was talking directly to you. You were his friend. His words were marked by feeling. He seemed unlike any of the stuffy, old politicians that Derry had seen. Eddie quickly came to the conclusion that he trusted him. 

Mayor Elway continued, “Many of you here today have just eaten lunch. I myself have just eaten dinner. Because this morning we were up at four o’clock and out at City center and the traditional landmarks. So, if I sound a little tired at this time of day you’ll understand why. It’s always a pleasure to spend time out and around the citizens of this city that I love so much. Though it’s small in comparison to Metropolitan’s, this is a mighty city. It’s a restless city. It has more challenges than any city of its size. It has faced them head-on, unblinking. The fiscal problems are enormous. So too is the need to make our streets safe to walk on, our parks safe to play in and our bus system safe to ride in. Before I was Mayor, I was co-chair of the zoning board and so I am keenly aware of the housing crisis. We need to help the homeless. The bible talks of Jesus caring for the beggars and we must do the same. We must wipe out the narcotics trafficking in our city and treat addiction as a medical condition and not a criminal act. There are strides in educational and medical care that we can continue to make. We must continue to support the arts programs. We should, I believe, solve our problems before they reach the crisis stage. And I have promises to set up neighborhood advisory councils so that we can seek out problems on the local level and solve them before they reach City Hall.’

‘Now, there’s one aspect of our problems that I want to address today. Two years ago, Derry Paper Mill shut its doors. This put nine hundred and twenty-six of our population out of a job, nearly twenty percent. Families were torn apart. Many found themselves unable to afford their home longer and were forced to leave our wonderful city or live on the streets. Schools lost their students, businesses lost their customers. This is a problem that will call for a massive attack and a determination and a vigor that will come directly from City Hall. I am convinced that poverty, along with crime, is the biggest problem facing us. All of us face the degradation of these unemployed. When one in Derry suffers, all in Derry suffer. It is imperative that we create jobs and bring businesses back to our town.’  
‘Not too long ago on one of those hot, steamy nights that we seemed to have so many of this spring I accompanied a policeman on a tour of night duty. I stood in front of the Sugar Bowl Candy Shop where a week previously, a youth had been stabbed to death over a dime. A dime. That is the value on life that is placed in some areas of our city. A dime. I would like today to publicly pay my regards and respect to the policemen, social workers, doctors and nurses of the county. They are unpaid and understaffed. I can assure you that money is not what brings them to that line of work.’ 

‘Now, I would like to talk about some statistics. The rate of murder and missing persons in Derry is six times the national average. It is ten times for children. That embarrasses me. This is what I want to destroy. I believe that the fight against poverty, against the destructive forces of the mill’s closing, is a full-time job. As Mayor, I am fully responsible for this, the most crucial part of my tenure. I will do my part to improve Derry. You will do your part to improve Derry. We will wage an all-out war to lower that statistic. It breaks my heart to think that anyone cannot safely walk these streets that I love so much. I will make regular trips to visit those in need. The only way to help the unemployed is to talk to the unemployed.’

‘A woman named Katharine wrote to me last month. She worked at Derry Paper Mill. She’s far more eloquent than I could ever be. She wrote me last month to say, please let those who think I’m sitting at home enjoying being unemployed know that I’d much rather be working. She said that I’ve applied to everything for which I’m possibly qualified, to no avail. I’ve worked hard all my life, paid taxes, voted, engaged in political discussion and my two sons serve in the military. So, when we’ve got the mother of two of our troops who is working hard but has to wear a coat inside the house, we’ve got a problem.’

‘These men and women grew up with faith in an America where hard work and responsibility paid off. They believed in a country where everyone got a fair shake and does their fair share—where if you stepped up, did your job and were loyal to your company that loyalty would be rewarded with a decent salary and good benefits, maybe a raise once in a while. If you did the right thing, you could make it. Anybody could make it in America. They worked hard to meet their responsibilities and that work needs to be rewarded. We need to do better by them.’” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone, thanks for reading! This may seem like a filler chapter, but there are some important clues for going forward. Wink Wink. Also, I'm too lazy a writer to actually write a political speech so it's cribbed from a speech that Abe Beame, the Mayor of New York City in the '70's, gave and two speeches that Obama gave. Please leave a kudo and a comment. Every review I get makes my heart grew three sizes like the grinch. I would love to hear from you.


	4. Chapter 4

Eddie spent the day after Sonia’s funeral sequestered in his bedroom reading X-Men comics. His concentration wavered and drifted away from the comics, not able to stay on one thing for very long. He found himself imagining that instead of laying on his childhood he was in a sleeper car on the Orient Express traveling to Athens. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing Eddie knew he was being jolted back to consciousness. It took a moment for Eddie to acclimate to his surroundings and remember where he was. His head pounded, his skin was clammy and his tongue felt like someone applied shag carpet to it. The sun was beginning to set casting purple shadows that were the shape of spiders against the wall of his bedroom. 

As the cobwebs were shaken out of his brain, Eddie went to the bathroom and poured himself a glass of water. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Eddie thought himself to be terribly ugly. He had a gaunt, sallow face with a weak chin and dark circles under his eyes that made him look like a raccoon. In the dark of the bathroom, with the way the little bit of light from the hallway hit him, Eddie didn’t look alive. The jutted, sharpness of his cheekbones and his sunken eye sockets were highlighted so that he looked like a skeleton. He belonged underground. Not even a mask or walking around with a sheet over his head would help. Eddie had heard people compare their body to a prison, but his felt like a haunted house. Nothing filled Eddie with such fear as his body and what could be lying in wait to cause him harm. 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, you look like Steve Buscemi,” said the voice of Richie Tozier in Eddie’s head. 

After washing his mouth out splashing his face with water, Eddie realized that he was hungry. He shambled downstairs with the intention of making himself a ham and cheese sandwich. He made it halfway down the stairs when he heard voices and stopped dead in his tracks. 

“I just got back from the theatre,” said a high-pitched, watery, feminine voice. 

It was Eleanor Dunton, one of Sonia and Barbara’s best friends. She had lived next door to the Glauser’s while they were growing up, and had lived a block away for Eddie’s entire life. She had married young and well, but her husband had soon died from a heart condition. She never remarried. Eleanor Dunton looked older than her fifty-five years. Vanity led her to cover her graying hair with a wiry brown wig and mask her face with garish make-up. She had varicose veins and always smelled like PineSol. 

“How was it?” Inquired Aunt Barbara. “The Derry Players always do such a wonderful job.” 

“I thought it was very funny,” Eleanor Dunton answered. “Elaine Palmer was good. She was looking heavier. Have you noticed that?” 

“No, I can’t say that I have.” 

“She shouldn’t turn profile.” 

“Well, very few of us should turn profile.” 

Eddie was rather trapped. If he continued to the kitchen Aunt Barbara and Mrs. Dunton would see him which was the last thing that he wanted. If he turned and went back to his bedroom Eddie ran the risk that he could be heard and then Aunt Barbara would call him down. Slowly, trying to do it as silently as possible Eddie lowered himself to sit on a stair and wait for a safe moment. 

“Would you like some?” Aunt Barbara asked. 

“Oh no, dear, I brought the food over for you and that poor boy. Not for me. I have a sandwich waiting for me at home,” replied Eleanor Dunton lordily. 

“Let me get you some coffee,” Aunt Barbara said, always the gracious hostess. 

“Absolutely not. You’ve just had to bury your sister. Don’t trouble yourself any on my account.” 

Aunt Barbara invited Eleanor Dunton to sit on the couch and there was a long pause before she spoke. 

“I wish I had been able to go to the play. “Noises Off” is one of my favorites. Neil Simon is always so funny.” She said, with a loud sigh. 

“I don't think anyone begrudges you staying home. I didn’t hear anyone talking about it,” Mrs. Dunton said reassuringly. 

“Well, that's good, I suppose.” Aunt Barbara replied, snippy, as though she didn’t believe her. She continued on brightly. “So, Elaine Palmer was in it. Who else?” 

“Let me see Brian Fullmer, Elise Loosle, Reid Pinnock…” 

Aunt Barbara interrupted, “Oh, Reid. How is he doing? I heard that Marianne left him.” 

Eleanor Dunton lowered her voice. “Well, nothing’s official yet, but Marianne has been spending an awful lot of time with her sister in Bar Harbor. Obviously, Reid is devastated.” 

“Oh, no.” 

“They have been married for twenty years. It’s only natural, but Reid is taking it extremely hard. A little too hard, if you ask me. He’s not a strong person. So many bad things have happened to him. What was his sisters' name? Annie?” 

“Abby. Abigail. Me and Sonia would babysit her,” answered Aunt Barbara. 

“I remember that. It boggles my mind to think that happened thirty-three years ago. Time sure does fly when you get old,” Eleanor Dunton said with a nostalgic tinge to her voice. 

Eddie leaned forward on the edge of the stairs like he was watching the intense final set piece of a crime thriller. What happened thirty-three years ago? 

When Aunt Barbara spoke her voice was small. “Abby was adorable. She was secretly my favorite of the kids that I babysat. She always had her hair in pigtails. One time I tried to braid her hair and she throw a temper tantrum. She had a flannel jumper. She called it her ‘panel jumper”. She was five years old. Who would cut all of the limbs off of a five years old? Sometimes I think about how that monster could still be alive. I was in the group that found her floating in the river. I will never be able to forget that. I had nightmares for months.” 

“Mrs. Pinnock had to identify the body. She was never the same afterward. I would bring over soup and tea, but all poor Mrs. Pinnock could do was lay in bed and cry. I would hold her for hours,” Eleanor Dunton said soberly. 

“No one played in the parks for the rest of the year. It’s a sad place where children can’t play on a playground, “Aunt Barbara said. 

“Oh, I quite agree, Derry deserved better. Abby Pinnock deserved better,” Eleanor Dunton said in a firm and decisive voice. 

There was a long pause before Aunt Barbara exclaimed, “Oh, what a gruesome topic. The hair on my arm is standing straight up. Look. Let’s talk about something else.” 

Eleanor Dunton respected Aunt Barbara’s wishes because the conversation turned to politics and Robin Elway. Eddie bit down on his bottom lip and churned the things that he had heard around in his head. He thought about Derry. As a boy, the world had been very small. The scales fell from his eyes as he grew, but sometimes he wished they hadn’t. He didn’t want to live in a world where such things as children being abducted off the playground swing set existed. 

A cold wind nipped at Eddie’s neck and he looked up. His blood ran cold and his breath hitched in his throat. At the foot of the stairs lying on the ground was a little girl. The little girl was missing all of her limbs. Her auburn hair was pulled into pigtails on the top of her head and matted with blood and brain matter. The girls face was curiously free of blood. She would look like she was sleeping if her eyes weren’t open; glassy and white. She was wearing a red flannel jumper over a black turtleneck. At least, Eddie thought it was black. It was hard to tell with all of the blood that coated it. Eddie had never seen the girl before, but something inside him knew that it was Abby Pinnock. There was no question. 

He choked down a scream and scrambled up the stairs. There was no forethought or intention in the running away. It was as though Eddie was a marionette and his limbs were controlled by an outside force. His body seemed to know that he needed to get as far away as possible. He couldn’t have stopped it if he tried. It was only when Eddie had returned to his room and his heart rate returned to normal that Eddie realized that hadn’t been the work of Pennywise the Clown or a ghostly apparition. It had been his own imagination running away from him. 

Within five days after Sonia’s funeral, the environment returned to their natural order. Eddie’s time was no longer made up of meetings with funeral directors and family gatherings. His days lengthened. Malaise set into Eddie’s bones. At times he was struck by a sort of spiritual claustrophobia. At night after Eddie was finally able to fall asleep, he would wake up in a sweat, with a scream on his lips and the distinct feeling that the walls were caving in on him. He was stuck in a town that he hated, without friends, school or even a job to keep him occupied. It was June, something needed to happen. 

There was something parasitic about the Kaspbrak house, as though it was feeding on Eddie’s life force. He felt himself being drained. He worried that the more time he spent inside its walls the stronger its hold on him would become. He had been strong enough to break the course once when he left for college, but would be able to do it again? This time if Eddie failed it was because of his weakness and not the power of an outside force. His mother was gone and unable to manipulate him into staying as she had been before. The realization paralyzed him with fear. He didn’t know how he would be able to stand himself if he failed; if he couldn’t break out of self-made chains. He wondered how long it would be before Derry got its hooks back into him. How long before he turned into his mother? The anxiety only left him peevish and angry. 

The day after Sonia’s funeral Eddie had intended to get all her belongings together and take them to Good Will. When Aunt Barbara discovered his intentions, she began to wail convulsively. Eddie gave her a hug and promised that he wouldn’t give anything away. (“I’m sorry. I lost my head for a moment. I’m sorry.”) Now, the only place that Eddie could be without seeing something of Sonia’s’ was his bedroom. He spent hours locked in that cramped room brooding, bored of the present and fearful of the future. Her presence lingered and overpowered the house. It seemed as though she had imprinted it with her very presence. The rooms still smelled of her perfume. Eddie would not be surprised if one midnight he stepped out of his bedroom and found his mother's ghost standing at the end of the hall.   
There was no relationship to speak of between Eddie and Aunt Barbara. There were no inside jokes or laughter, no deep conversations. They didn’t confide in one another. Eddie never went out of his way to Aunt beyond “Good morning” and perfunctory comments about the weather at the kitchen table. They might as well be boarders at a house and not blood related for all the attachment Eddie felt for her and the interactions he sought out. Surprisingly, Eddie was okay with this. He felt no guilt over his lack of interest in Aunt Barbara as a person. 

Aunt Barbara took it upon herself to help Eddie, to “mold the young breed” as it were. Throughout Eddie’s life, Sonia had talked Barbara’s ear off about his misdeeds and insolence. Too many times Sonia had cried to her about the horrid friends Eddie had fallen in with and how wild he had become. 

“Those evil, nasty kids,” cried Sonia during one particular phone call when Eddie was fourteen. “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard about them, Barbara. There’s this girl that runs around with them and well, you know the type of girl that hangs around boys. I’ve tried everything to get Eddie to stop seeing them. I’ve grounded him, I’ve yelled, I’ve threatened. I’ve tried everything, but he doesn’t listen to me. He says they’re his friends. Only the Lord above knows why. He talks back to me. One time he even raised his voice. I never yelled at my mother, you know that. I’m at my wit's end. That boy is going to drive me to an early grave.” 

When Eddie visited Aunt Barbara, he had given the appearance of being a quiet young man. His manners were gentle and polite. It was only when she moved in with her sister that Barbara learned the truth. She found Eddie to be an obstinate, willful and disrespectful boy. One night just after Aunt Barbara moved into the house she carried a basket of laundry into his bedroom. She found him lying on his bed reading those horrible comic books that for some reason he loved. 

She gasped and exclaimed, “Edward Kaspbrak, put down your window at once. Are you crazy?” 

“Oh, Aunt Barbara, it’s so stuffy in here, “ he pleaded. 

“You can air it during the daytime, but never, ever have that window open after sundown. How can you not know how dangerous the night air is. Especially with your asthma.” 

“I don’t have asthma.” 

“Contradict me, of course. What do I know,” she said with a sniff. 

“And if I did, I’ve read several studies that say that fresh air is best for you.” 

“ The young people think old people to be fools, and old people know young people to be fools,” Aunt Barbara said with finality. 

She felt the proverb left nothing more to be said and left the room, confident that she would be obeyed. 

The next day she found the window open once again. 

Eddie was a secretive and sly boy. He spent all of his time out of the house, ignoring his mother’s tears. He had no compassion for his mother and that broke Aunt Barbara’s heart. When he was questioned about his activities Eddie would reply that he had been out with his friends and refuse to elaborate. “Where? Where were you with your friends?” Both Sonia and Aunt Barbara interrogated him, but he would only answer, “Out.” 

Worst of all were Eddie’s eyes. Sometimes Aunt Barbara would catch a look in those cold gray eyes. The look was only a flash, perhaps across the dinner table or as he passed by her on his way to the bathroom, but it would send a shiver down her spine. They were like an x-ray, seeing everything within her, even the things that Aunt Barbara wished to hide about herself. There was the sense that these eyes had seen things and understood the world in a way that Aunt Barbara would never be able to. Eddie found her a fool and pitied her for it. They were the eyes of Frank Kaspbrak. 

After Sonia’s death, Aunt Barbara decided that she would take up his correction and moral education. She questioned him frequently about his behavior but not one of them was about the frequent time he spent in his bedroom or at the library. She spouted homilies and advice like they were going out of style. She regaled Eddie with gossip and opinions over dinner. This was her duty as a Christian, and, of course, as an aunt. 

One Saturday morning Eddie found his old bike in the garage. The steed of his youth hadn’t been ridden in two years and had fallen in neglect and disrepair. The seat had been torn up and lost of most of its padding, the left-hand gear stuck and several of the nuts had rusted so badly they were rendered useless. It was covered by a layer of dust as thick as a blanket. With the same care as a restorer of antiquities, Eddie made the necessary repairs. Aunt Barbara gasped when Eddie passed her in the kitchen, clothes dirty and hands covered in oil. 

With his bike returned to its former glory, Eddie escaped the prison-like house. He would ride out to the train yard that lay just inside the Derry border and spent most of his day there. He told Aunt Barbara that he was going to read at the library. He took the long way so he wouldn’t have to cross Neibolt Street. Eddie had not been to the train yard since he was fifteen but growing up it had been a regular haunt. He had spent most of the fall of 1989 there. 

In contrast to the rest of Derry, very little had changed about the train yard. That fact was a balm to Eddie’s soul. A gate had stood at the entrance, but it had fallen in a storm. It had still not been replaced. No security had ever worked at the yard and, in fact, the watchtower had been one of the go-to places to smoke pot during high school. Above all, the train yard was quiet. The trainmaster, Mr. Braddock, was very rarely there and was lenient if you weren't smoking or drinking. Henry Bowers and the other bullies had never gone there. Sonia Kaspbrak would have never dreamed of setting foot in such a place. Sometimes Eddie had been able to pretend that he was the only person in the world. 

The same comfort that Eddie had found in the train yard growing up he was able to find presently. After riding through the hole in the gate Eddie would lean his bike up against the old, abandoned train masters booth off to the side of the tracks. Eddie had never seen anybody inside the rickety shack. All of the windows had been broken and were covered in spider webs. Every inch seemed to be covered in graffiti. Sitting down and leaning against the booth, Eddie would watch the trains whizz by. The sound of the wheels churning was rhythmic and soothing. He burned the city names printed on the side of the cars into his retinas. San Francisco. Detroit. Boston. Portland. As a kid, Eddie promised himself that one day he would go to the cities and still held that promise in his heart. Oh, how he wanted to see them.   
The following Sunday, Eddie stopped into Keene’s Pharmacy on his way to the train yard. He had to pick up allergy medicine and ibuprofen. It was an almost compulsive, uncontrollable itch. Every time Eddie thought that it would be all right to not grab the pills, he heard his mothers' voice hissing in his ear, “What else can help you, Eddie?” 

Eddie was certain that he would be able to walk the path from the Kaspbrak house to the pharmacy blindfolded. Twice a week since the age of five he had traveled to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. He took the same route every time, it was a dull and ugly view that followed the canal. In the summer it smelled of hot garbage. The route would take Eddie past the park and out of the corner of his eye he would watch the boys playing baseball. 

Keene’s Pharmacy was a small and compact building at the top of Center Street. The front windows were outlined by a blood-red garland. The display was of plastic trinkets that would break within the month. The pharmacy was lit by fluorescent lights that swayed nervously and gave everything a nauseating pea-green cast. The walls were spotted with medicine advertisement posters. Hanging over the antihistamine shelf was a framed photo of Ronald Reagan. The minute you walked into the pharmacy you were overpowered by the smell of vaseline and cough syrup. 

The bell that tingled when you opened the front door nearly always made Eddie jump. He looked around to make sure that nobody saw that display and then he began to wind his way through the aisles. As he walked by he grabbed the allergy pills and ibuprofen that needed, as well as a bottle of Robitussin, which was always good to have on hand. 

Eddie stopped dead in his tracks when the pharmacy counter came into his view. It felt as though a block of ice had been dropped down his intestines. Greta Keene stood behind the counter, lazily chewing on a piece of gum. She was wearing a jumper over a striped turtleneck. Her hair had been chopped into The Rachel. On her left hand was a gaudy, ugly diamond ring that was probably smaller than a baseball. 

She gave him a false, sickly sweet smile. “Eddie Kaspbrak, it’s been too long.” 

Eddie tried to smile, but couldn’t make his mouth move. It came out as more of a twitch. “Hello, Greta.” 

He set his purchases down on the counter and Greta began to ring them up. 

“Did you find everything okay?” She asked in a monotone, perfunctory tone. 

Eddie nodded.” Mhmm-mhmm.” 

“You know we just got a new shipment of Imodium in. You should try it out. It might help,” she said off-handedly. 

“Help with what?” 

“You know.” 

Eddie shifted from one foot to another. “Maybe next time. Thank you.” 

By now Greta had scanned all of Eddie’s items. She tossed them into a paper bag and held it out to him with a limp wrist. The light reflected off Greta’s diamond ring and beamed into Eddie’s eye. 

“That’ll be $10.26, please.” 

Eddie nodded and handed her the money. “Congratulations,” he said, gesturing to the ring. 

“Oh, it’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Greta said, puffing up like a peacock. “You remember Doug Cowley, don’t you?” 

“Sure.” 

Doug Cowley had been two grades above them at Derry High. He was a Meathead who had pierced his own ear while blitzed out on Everclear and Gatorade at a house party. Once he and Pete Gordon had scrawled RICHIE TOZIER IS A FAG in Sharpie on the locker room wall. Eddie was not a fan. 

“We’re going to be married in September,” Greta said grandly, as though she was discussing meeting the queen. 

“That’s nice. How long have you two been together?” 

“Four months next week.” 

Eddie wasn’t sure what to say to that. Clutching the paper bag as though it was a life preserver he turned to walk away. 

“Well, it was, uh,…nice seeing you again, Greta.” 

“Are you seeing anyone?” She asked suddenly, leaning forward onto the counter and fixing him with an interrogative stare. 

Eddie stopped in his tracks. “What? No, no, I’m not,” he answered, coughing nervously. 

“I saw that you didn’t get any medicine for your dick,” Greta said matter-of-factly, as though she was commenting on the weather. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I’m talking about the dick pills you needed when you were younger.” 

Eddie laughed, hoping that Greta was joking. “What?” 

“I think that if you took them again, you could get a girlfriend. No girl likes a broken dick. I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to help,” Greta said. 

“Well, uhm…thank you,” Eddie said shakily. 

On wobbly, buckling legs Eddie once again turned around. Greta’s cackles filled his ears. He bumped into the soda fountain and almost knocked over two card display racks before he made his way out of the pharmacy. 

From there he went next door to Grove’s Market. Grove’s Market, a small mom-and-pop store that sold groceries and had a deli in the back, for a Pepsi and Hostess Ho-Ho. Besides the recently closed Costello Street Market it had been the place to get treats and snacks after school. It had a sign in the window advertising fifty percent off all products. 

After picking up the Ho-Ho from a stand Eddie turned around, accidentally bumping into somebody. 

“Oh, shit man, sorry. I didn’t see you there.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Eddie,” said a familiar voice with a chuckle.

Ben Hanscom stood in front of Eddie holding a deli sandwich. His face, more tanned than when Eddie had last seen him, was friendly and full of amusement. The two friends hugged and giggled in happiness at seeing each other again. 

“Holy shit, holy shit, am I glad to see you,” Eddie exclaimed. 

“Same here. I didn’t know you were already back. You should have let me know. When did you get in?” 

“How’s it, uh, at, uh, California Poly…technic…State University…?” 

Ben chuckled, “We just call it Cal Poly. It’s great. It’s great.” 

“That’s great.” 

“I’ve missed you guys so much,” Ben admitted earnestly. His face turned a bright magenta. “Phone calls haven’t really been enough.” 

Eddie understood. His own face heated up. 

The two made their way to the counter and continued to catch up as they paid for their snacks. It was as though Eddie had been made up of jigsaw puzzles and they had been scattered all over the floor. Once he saw Ben it was like a piece had been put back together. A hole had been patched up inside of him. Eddie found it very easy to be around Ben which was not something that he could say about most people. He had a peaceful and tranquil air that put Eddie immediately at ease, calming the emotional storms inside of him. Eddie admired Ben’s kindness and generosity of spirit. If anybody ever needed any help Ben was right there without a second thought. He was a terrific listener. 

Ben held open the market door and after grabbing Eddie’s bike they started down the street. As Eddie listened Ben spoke effusively about his architecture studies. The two met when they were thirteen and Eddie quickly learned that Ben had an affinity with engineering, an almost preternatural gift. When Ben built the clubhouse for The Losers, he had never built one before, but without reading up or looking at instructions he knew where each beam should go. Ben loved working with his hands and building things. It was how his brain worked. He had never considered being anything other than an architect. Eddie envied the fact Ben knew who he was and never questioned it. 

“I’m going to be taking an entire class about Googie Architecture next semester,” Ben said, his face bright and shining.  
  
“Googie? Isn’t that a type of baby food?” Eddie chuckled. In his opinion, the name was a little ridiculous for a type of aesthetic. 

Ben smiled and carried on. “I had never heard about it before I signed up for the class. That was the main reason I signed up. Later, I went to the library and did some reading up. I’m going to learn so much, it’s crazy. Googie’s heyday was in the ’50s and ’60s and it was very influenced by the space race. It was supposed look futuristic, like something out of a science fiction story, you know?” 

“Okay.” 

“It’s a lot of chrome, plastic and sharp angles. With the space race, there are a lot of rocket ships and star motifs. The ‘Welcome to Las Vegas’ sign is an example of the style. The Space Needle in Seattle. What’s so interesting about the Googie style is that it’s controversial. That seems weird to me because it's so innocuous. I guess that's the point, though. People either love it and think it's tacky or they rave about it being postmodern.” 

There was something captivating about listening to someone talk about their passion. Eddie was happy to listen to Ben talk about Googie style architecture. He thought it was wonderful that Ben was doing well. 

Ben rolled his eyes at himself and smiled self-consciously. “What about you, Eddie? How’s college? You know, earlier you never answered my question.” 

“What-oh, oh, uhm…. Cookie Dough. My favorite flavor of ice cream is Cookie Dough,” Eddie replied, flustered. 

“You know that’s not what I asked,” Ben said patiently. 

Eddie rounded on him, “What the fuck, Ben,” he yelled, defensive and panicked. His heart pounded. “What are you on about, because you’re so off-base it’s not even funny. The base is here and you’re in, like, Timbuktu. I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s not- It’s none of your business. Just shut the fuck up. I want you to shut up.” 

“You’re right, it is none of my business,” Ben replied complacently. “I’m sorry.” 

“You should be,” Eddie snapped. 

“It just seemed like something was bothering you and I was wondering if there was anything I could do.” 

“That’s really nice of you and all, but I have nothing to talk about. Nothing is wrong. Can you believe that? Can you get it through your tiny, pea brain that I am completely, utterly, completely fucking fine? I’m having a heart attack right now. You actually gave me a heart attack,” panted Eddie. 

Ben was quiet for a moment before speaking in a soft and gentle voice. “All right, I believe you. But if you’re ever not fine I want you to know that you can talk to me.” 

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. All the emotions that Eddie had kept bottled up and suppressed for the past two weeks came flooding out of him. The pressure was released and there was no stopper strong enough to hold it back. Gasping for breath and waving his arms madly, Eddie spoke frenziedly, passionately. He told Ben about Sonia’s death. He confessed that when he had first heard the news his first instinct had been relief. He had thought about all the things that he could now that Sonia was gone. Eddie thought only of himself and never of his mother, his flesh and blood. Slowly, that dissipated and was replaced by numbness. It felt to Eddie, as though this happened to a character in a movie. It didn’t feel real. People came up and offered their condolences, ascribing emotions and reactions to Eddie that he wasn’t feeling. He felt like an imposter. 

“Is something wrong with me, Ben? I just- people are sad when their mom dies, they grieve. That’s the normal, human reaction and I’m…I don’t care. I’m a monster, Ben. I’m a psychopath.”  
  
Eddie finished, his voice thick and raw. His eyes were glistening with unshed tears that he tried valiantly to hold back. Embarrassment fell over Eddie and he found it difficult to keep eye contact with Ben. 

Ben didn’t say anything, he just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Eddie. The gesture took Eddie by surprise. Ben had never hugged Eddie before. Eddie rarely hugged others, and as a general rule being touched made him feel uncomfortable. It held the connotation of depth to the relationship in Eddie’s mind; an intimacy and closeness that shouldn’t be thrown around arbitrarily. Also, Eddie hated his body and he didn’t see a reason why anyone would want to touch his diseased, monstrous form. Eddies’ muscles tensed up as though his body didn’t know what to make of it. But Ben held onto him and Eddie relaxed into it. It felt nice. 

When they began to walk again, there was a curious lightness to Eddie’s feet. 

On the corner of Edison Street, they passed a construction site. The lot was encircled by a barbed-wire fence that was littered with posters that advertised the Big Little Construction Company. Men in hard hats bummed around smoking and eating greasy fast-food hamburgers. Behind them was the skeleton of a house. Gray cement had been laid as a foundation, spindly beams of wood made up a frame that would end up being one story. Covering the frame was a yellow tarp that billowed like a sail. It was all topped off by a nearly flat roof that was carpeted by gray shingles. The house was small and compact with an almost boxy shape. 

“I hope they fix that roof,” Ben stated, glancing with concern at the structure as they walked by. 

“Is something wrong with it?” Eddie asked around a mouthful of ho-ho. 

Ben nodded. “The roof’s pitch isn’t up to code,” he explained. “The first blizzard of the year it’ll cave right in. It won’t be able to hold the load. Maybe if they put up some more support beams.” 

“Fuck, Ben, you knew that just by looking at it? I could never learn to do that,” Eddie said admiringly. 

Ben blushed. “ It’s just the way my brain works, I suppose.” 

The two friends continued to the Kaspbrak house. Ben was introduced to Aunt Barbara and passed her sniff test. While Ben was not a suck-up or a stick-in-the-mud, he had a mature, soft-spoken and polite manner that endeared him to adults. Eddie ran up to his bedroom and grabbed Clue from his bedroom. The two settled on the floor of the living room amongst the mess to play the game. Ben was Mrs. White and Eddie was Professor Plum. It was tremendous fun. Eddie became animated, speaking loudly and quickly. The game raised his competitive hackles and he played with stubbornness, but not intensity. Eddie sat with his legs crossed and leaning forward so his nose was nearly touching the game board. His eyebrows furrowed intently and every card was studied as though they were the Dead Sea Scrolls. Ben lay on the carpet on his stomach. He played in a breezy and laidback manner without any care to whether he won or not. His eyes were light and he laughed frequently. The conversation and laughter flowed easily between the two. It had been years since laughter echoed through the walls of the Kaspbrak house. 

As they played the conversation turned to their other friends. 

“Have you read Bill’s new story?” questioned Ben. “I think it’s Mrs. Peacock in the billiard room with the rope.” 

Eddie showed Ben the Mrs. Peacock card in his hand before answering. “The one about the rat kingdom in the basement of a factory?” 

“No, it’s called ‘Jericho Field’” 

“No, I haven’t read it yet.” 

“It was published last month in The Georgia Review, apparently that’s an extremely prestigious literary journal.” 

Eddie’s heart swelled with pride. “I bet you twenty bucks he’s published before graduation. What’s the story about?” 

“Vampires,” Ben answered. “It’s about a young man who wants to become a writer. He discovers a town in Maine that’s completely deserted except for a mansion at the top of a hill where a cult of vampires live.” 

“Cool,” Eddie breathed out. 

“It’s pretty gruesome,” Ben replied, with a self-conscious blush. 

Eddie shrugged. “That’s Bill for you.” 

Eddie had been allowed to read Bill’s writing beginning in tenth grade and treated as a great honor. He thought that Bill was a talented storyteller and admired his ability to string words together in order to convey a thought or feeling. Eddie could never write a story. In truth, Eddie very much enjoyed scary stories. They allowed him to experience fear and adventure in a safe environment without any risk. 

After Ben’s next turn he handed Eddie the dice. Eddie rolled a four and moved Mr. Green into the kitchen. 

“Okay, okay. I think that it was Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with the poison,” said Eddie ruminatively. 

Ben revealed the poison card in his hand. Eddie wrinkled his nose, disappointed, and marked it down in his detective’s notebook. 

“Have you talked to Richie recently?” inquired Ben, as he grabbed the dice and them. 

Eddie looked down at the carpet and picked at it absentmindedly. He coughed into his elbow. “No. No, I haven’t,” he answered thickly. 

Ben moved his piece three places. “He’ll be here next week. You can get his phone number again. It won’t be embarrassing,” he suggested. 

“Sure.” 

“You could have asked me when you lost it. I would have given you the number.” 

“I didn’t lose it,” Eddie admitted, self-conscious. 

“What?” Ben exclaimed. “Are you mad at Richie? What did he do?” 

“I’m always mad at Richie,” Eddie grumbled. 

“Did you guys have a fight again?” 

Eddie shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “No, nothing like that. Richie and I don’t actually fight that much. It’s just- things like this happen all the time, you know. It’s not a big deal. It’s not a thing or anything. We’re on different sides of the continent. When was the last time you called Beverly?” 

Ben blushed and quickly changed the subject. "Your turn." 

Attention was returned to the game. Eddie rolled the dice but didn’t move Mr. Green out of the kitchen. 

“I would like to make an accusation, “Eddie announced grandly. “I think that it’s Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with the knife.” 

Ben smiled and nodded supportively. He picked up the case file from the middle of the board and pulled out the cards. His face fell immediately and with a sheepish look, he slapped the cards down. Professor Plum. Courtyard. Knife. Eddie swore loudly and smacked at the board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEN'S HERE!!!!!!!!!! *kermit arms* The rest of the Losers show up in the next chapter so GET PSYCHED. 
> 
> If you notice any spelling or grammatical errors please let me know. Please, please, please leave a kudo and a comment. I would love to hear your thoughts. Every review that I get makes my heart grows three sizes grinch-style.


	5. Chapter 5

The day after Eddie and Ben met up, Stanley Uris flew in from Albany, New York. He was picked up at Bangor International Airport by his older sister Joanna. After returning home and taking a quick shower he met Eddie and Ben for dinner at an Italian restaurant. They spent four hours talking and laughing in the booth. They had to be asked to leave by the waitress so that the restaurant could close. 

Stan got extremely good grades in all of his classes, but that didn’t stop his stress and anxiety. Every test worried him to distraction. Beforehand, he was certain that he would not be able to get any questions correct and did not sleep well during the night. He had dark circles around his eyes. Despite the stress, he truly enjoyed his classes. During the dinner, Stan spoke at length, with excitement and pride mixed together in his voice, about the accounting program he started last semester. Shyly, he mentioned he had recently been on several dates with a young woman named Patty and they had gone very well. Getting Stan to talk dates had been like pulling teeth and so the fact that he willingly mentioned Patty told Eddie that this was special. 

The next Losers to return to Derry were Bill Denbrough and Mike Hanlon three days later. On his way from Waterville, Mike picked up Bill in Augusta and they made the rest of the long drive together. Like Eddie, Mike had not been outside of Penobscot County before, but he quickly acclimated to campus life. He was also the Loser that traveled back to Derry the most often to visit his parents. For a class, Mike was working on the history of Derry. Tape recorder in hand, Mike interviewed long-time residents. He was an extremely good student, with a deep, sincere love of the library. Mike had recently declared himself a history major and attended Black Student Union meetings. 

Bill had received a scholarship to the University of Maine, but, because of his mediocre grades, he was in grave danger of losing it. He had little to no interest in his general classes and even struggled in his writing classes. He ran up against the structure and form demanded by his professors. He just wanted to write. Bill had always wanted to be a writer. He started sending short stories out to magazines and writing journals to be published Junior year of high school, but only began in earnest during the previous year. So far, Bill had three short stories published in magazines and newspapers.

Without even stopping at their homes and unloading their luggage, Mike and Bill went to Ben’s house. Ben, Eddie, and Stan were already there and Mike and Bill were greeted with hugs and yelps of excitement. They adjourned to the Hanscom’s living room and Ben pulled out Trivial Pursuit. They played while gorging themselves on potato chips and soda and catching up with one another. After two rounds Ben and Bill went to Blockbuster and rented an armful of movies. Eddie argued that they couldn’t watch “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” without Richie, but after Mike pointed out that Richie had already seen the movies a million times, it was chosen. Eddie had to leave halfway through in order to make his curfew. 

Two days later Richie Tozier began his trek back to Derry, Maine. For years and years, Richie dreamed of leaving Derry. No, it was not a dream, it was an inevitability. He never even considered any other potentiality than moving out of Derry as soon as possible. It had always been much too small for him; too mundane, too hateful. He didn’t belong there. Somewhere in the world, there was a place made just for Richie Tozier, where he would be accepted completely for who he was. So Richie eagerly shook the dust of that crummy little town off his shoes and left without looking back. California suited him very well. Richie had always gotten good grades, very nearly always straight A’s, but now that he was in an environment where he wasn’t being graded on behavior he thrived. For the most part, he enjoyed the film and performing arts classes he took. Being able to write an essay about Mel Brooks was a dream come true. Down the street from campus, there was a dive bar where Richie had performed stand-up on open-mic nights five times. Richie knew that he wasn’t any good yet, he was too eager and hungry, and there was nothing he wanted to learn how to do more. People had actually laughed at his jokes. He got along fine with his roommate. He found people that he liked and called friends, but none filled the hole in his heart left by the absence of the Losers. Richie missed them so much that it seeped into his bones and made him feel sick. 

After completing his last final of the semester Richie did not waste any time in leaving. Richie was usually a huge procrastinator, but his bags had been packed for two days already. He left Long Beach and flew into O’Hare International Airport where he was met by Beverly Marsh. The two bashed around Chicago for the weekend, Beverly showing Richie the sights and her regular haunts. Richie and Bev had a comfortable, chummy friendship. Back in Derry, people had often assumed they were going out or had feelings for each other, but the relationship was entirely platonic. Unlike Harry and Sally, this man and this woman could be just friends. They had a similar sense of fun but tended to bring out the others negative traits. Richie admired that Bev was a good sport and down for anything. She was brave, fierce, and had a wicked sense of humor. She was a fun drinking buddy. She had great taste in movies and music. Beverly was one of the guys. Richie was one of the few men that Beverly implicitly trusted and that meant more than she could ever verbalize. She knew that he would never touch her and that knowledge was a relief. Though Beverly would never say this to his face, she thought that Richie was funny. He was very easy to relax around. 

To be perfectly honest, Beverly hadn’t thought about college seriously. She had always thought herself too poor and her grades too bad for it to be anything other than a pipe dream. 

Over breakfast one morning during Beverly’s Junior year of high school, her Aunt Sherry brought up the subject of higher education. Sherry was Beverly’s mother’s youngest sister; tall, redheaded, and cool. She was in her mid-thirties, with a rebellious and youthful spirit. She kept up with popular culture, playing Liz Phair’s “Exile in Guyville” to Beverly. She worked as a journalist for The Maine Sunday Telegram. Beverly admired her very much. 

After Beverly shrugged and explained that she wasn’t interested in college, Sherry was quiet. She didn’t get angry like Beverly had expected, but instead, looked rather sad. 

“Never pass up an opportunity to learn and better yourself, Beverly. If you don’t want to go because it’s honestly not for you, it’s not a good fit, then I respect that. College isn’t for everyone. But if you’re purposefully holding yourself back…well then, I just don’t know.” 

Those words buried themselves into Beverly and lit a fire underneath her.  
When she arrived at the University of Chicago with a scholarship, Beverly felt like she was a vagrant, an imposter who had no business being there. She had no future plans, not even an inkling as to what she wanted to do for her career. It felt like everyone else on campus had a purpose and that made Beverly feel insecure. She focused on her general classes and took a few fun classes, like yoga. During the past semester, she took an Intro to Drawing class for kicks and ended up absolutely loving it. The idea of majoring in art had recently begun to percolate in her brain. 

Richie and Beverly made the trip from Chicago to Derry together. They spread it out over two days, taking turns driving and playing mixtapes. They goofed around and played driving games like punch buggy and hummer bummer, doing a good job of entertaining each other. The drive went by quickly. 

When the two arrived in Derry, they stopped at Sherry’s house and dropped off Beverly’s luggage. They then continued on to the Tozier household where they were welcomed with open arms by Wentworth and Maggie Tozier. Bill and Stan came over at six that night and they met the rest of the Losers at the concession stand of the Aladdin Theater. As they stood in line, the six friends easily fell into conversation. 

“How c-c-could you say that? There’s no fucking contest,” Bill Denbrough interrogated Beverly. 

“You asked the wrong question,” she insisted. 

“No, no, no I-I didn’t. The question isn’t whet-whether regular coke or diet tastes better. It’s a m-m-moot point because they taste the same.” 

“You’re wrong.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Bill Denbrough, I know tastes and I’m pretty sure I can tell when shit tastes different,” shot back Beverly, crossing her arms. 

“They ta-taste….the same. I…ca-can't tell any difference.” 

“Well, to be fair, Bill, you’ve never been the sharpest tool in the shed,” Richie said, with a toothy smile to show that he was joking. 

“Fuck you,” Bill retorted, returning the smile. 

Mike sighed. “Guys, I think it would be okay if we were quiet.” 

“I’m with Mike,” said Stan. 

“Y’know, I read an article that said that different sugars and sweeteners are used for Coke and Diet Coke. It would make sense for them to taste different,” chimed in Ben. 

“Thank you, Ben,” said Beverly, flashing him a beatific grin in gratitude. 

“That doesn’t…mean…a-a-anything. It’s…still the same recipe. They’re both Coke. T-t-t-t-they taste the…same,” Bill said defensively. 

“I’ll order you a Coke and a Diet Coke and then we’ll see if there’s a difference.” 

“I can’t taste a difference.” 

“Who do I have to agree with to get this to stop?” asked Mike. 

Beverly spoke, trying to keep her voice light and even. “Regular Coke has a darker taste. It…it’s almost like maple.” 

“It has an oaky aftertaste,” Richie interjected in a snooty voice with a British accent. 

“It tastes like drinking straight sugar,” Beverly continued. “Diet Coke has, like, a lighter taste. It’s fizzier.” 

“Now, that we’ve solved all the world's problems, I’m going to order. It’s amazing what we can do when we focus all of our energy on to the things that matter. ” Stan said sarcastically and stepped away to the concession counter. 

At that moment a lightbulb turned on inside of Richie’s head and he began to scour the crowded theater lobby. He jumped up to get a better look. 

“Hey, where’s Eddie?” he asked the group. “He would have an opinion on this.” 

The first mistake that Eddie made was telling Aunt Barbara the truth when she asked where he was going. The minute he mentioned friends she threw a conniption. She prohibited him from leaving and reiterated her declaration that he could not see his friends anymore. Eddie knew that fighting it would only make things worse and torpedo any further attempts to see them again. He accepted her decision that he stay at home with a heavy heart. All of the disappointment and frustration he felt was trapped inside of his heart. Eddie was able to catch Bill on the phone before he left and let him know that he wouldn’t be able to make it to the movie. 

Eddie spent the rest of the night in his bedroom reading comics. He brooded and resented Aunt Barbara for keeping him away from his friends, but resolved never to show that. He made it a point to stay out of Aunt Barbara’s way as much as possible and be on his best behavior. 

At ten o’clock Eddie crept downstairs. He found Aunt Barbara sipping tea and reading “Gone With the Wind” in the kitchen. Clasping his hands over his stomach and head bowed penitently Eddie approached her. In a weak, trembling voice Eddie apologized. He abased himself and swore that he would do better. He told Aunt Barbara that she was right and he realized how horrible his friends were. Bile rose up Eddie’s throat as he told that lie, but he didn’t give himself away. Tears sprang up to his eyes. This is what Aunt Barbara wanted. She heartily accepted his apology and gave him a wet kiss on his forehead. Eddie poured himself a cup of tea and withdrew back to his bedroom. 

Twenty minutes later Eddie returned to the kitchen. Bashfully, with a lot of hemming and hawing and purposeful stammering, Eddie asked if he could go to the library tomorrow morning. Aunt Barbara looked him over shrewdly, her eyes narrow like a hawk getting ready to pounce on prey. After a moment, Aunt Barbara answered affirmatively. 

The following morning Eddie woke up at eight. It took much longer than usual to decide what to wear before he told himself he was ridiculous and pulled on a white button-up shirt and khaki chinos. He brushed his teeth twice, flossed, and was meticulous in styling his hair. He stopped himself from spraying on cologne. Butterflies fluttered around his stomach in nervousness. 

Eddie rushed down to the kitchen, jumping the last three stairs. Aunt Barbara was at the stove preparing breakfast. It took Eddie several minutes to convince her that he didn’t need to eat a full breakfast. He did everything he could to make his point without starting a fight. In order to placate her, Eddie had a glass of orange juice and a piece of toast. 

The Blue Plate Diner was on the corner of Costello and Kansas Street, across the street from the Public Library. It had been a regular gathering place for the Losers in high school. The afternoon would be spent at the library doing homework and then they would adjourn to the Blue Plate Diner for dinner joined by whichever Losers had not been at the library.

Started in 1947 by the Domokos family, The Blue Plate Diner had long been a loved part of Derry life. The interior design had not been modified since it opened its doors. It had a checkerboard vinyl floor that looked as though it was swept daily, but not mopped. Over the years it had chipped and peeled. The walls were lined by booths covered by a teal faux-leather that clashed with the rest of the color scheme. Tables were spread out over the floor in no particular pattern. The tabletops were made out of a cheap laminated chrome. The wooden paneling of the walls were covered in art, copies of paintings of landscapes and animals. Painted wooden mallards sat on each side of the front counter like two bookends. The counter was messy, covered in condiment bottles, sugar packets, dessert plates, and the like. It was messy in a way that was comforting and homey. Businesses often try to make their establishments feel like a home but the Blue Plate Diner honestly did. 

Eddie entered the Diner to find that he was the last of the Losers to arrive. The other six were huddled together in a corner booth. Bill Denbrough was writing in a composition notebook, concentrating deeply, biting on his bottom lip. Every once in a while he would smirk at something that was said or look up at his friends with fondness in his eyes. 

Next to him sat Richie Tozier who was lazily slumped down in his seat. He looked the same as when Eddie had last seen him. His nasally voice sounded the same. Richie was tall and gangly, never having filled out after his growth spurt Sophomore year. Richie’s dark hair was thick and floppy. Over the years the curls had tamed, but it still fell in waves. The bangs were brushed forward hiding a high forehead. In truth, Richie’s brown eyes were rather small but you wouldn’t know that from the way they were magnified from behind large black Buddy Holly glasses. The glasses sat crookedly on his nose and a piece of tape was wrapped around the right hinge. His cheekbones were sharp and well-defined. Richie’s mouth was too wide and thin before the lips curled up at the end. Underneath that, his jaw was v-shaped leading into a flat chin. Richie was wearing a lime green jacket over a faded yellow band t-shirt and ripped, stained jeans. All of these items of clothing he had owned for over five years. 

Watching him, Eddie felt a familiar swelling in his chest. The palms of his hands were clammy and he felt jittery, like there were ants scurrying around underneath his skin. Eddie wished that he had a script that told him what to say to Richie. Did Richie even want Eddie to talk to him? What was Richie feeling? 

At that moment Richie was in the middle of telling a joke to Beverly, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. Beverly was pursing her lips in an attempt to not laugh. It was a losing battle and she burst out giggling. Stan was showing Mike a Nikon Camera that his dad had gotten him for Hanukkah for bird watching. Ben was watching his friends with a mix of delight and bewilderment over the top of a menu. He looked as though the wind had been knocked out of him. It was as though he couldn’t believe all of his friends were in the same place right in front of him. His eyes lingered discreetly on Beverly. 

Besides the Losers, the only other person in the Diner was a middle-aged man sitting at a corner table with a cheeseburger despite the early hour. He had a leathery face that was dotted with scabs and pockmarks. An open wound, red, festering, and puckered, was on his left cheek. His skin was permanently damaged by the sun so it was dry and flaking. He had lips that were so chapped that they looked like melting candle wax. His greasy gray hair was covered by an old baseball cap. The man was clothed in rags, full of holes, and caked with dirt. His unblinking eyes never left The Losers. Something about the look raised the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck. 

Eddie reprimanded himself for the unfounded suspicion and looked back at The Losers. He took in their faces. Those well-known, well-loved faces. A feeling of relief and solace washed over him. He was cleansed. His soul was soothed. Sonia Kaspbrak did not exist. No one had ever lied to Eddie about his asthma and other illnesses. Eddie’s body wasn’t a self-made prison. It felt lighter. His breathing deepened and rushed through his body. A soft, content smile spread over his face uncontrollably. Eddie felt like he had come home. 

The Losers were more than a clique. Their connection was more akin to that of the veterans of a wartime platoon. They had fought together, protected one another, thought more of the other’s safety than their own. They knew each other’s dark sides and secrets and understood them in the way that they needed to be. As the seven of them traveled out into the world for college they had met others and called them friends, but no one came close to the part of the heart reserved for the Losers. No one else ever would be. The seven fit together perfectly. 

Beverly was the first one of the group to see Eddie. She pushed past Mike and Ben out of the booth and rushed over to him. Eddie gathered her in his arms. 

“Bev.” 

“Oh, it’s so good to see you,” she said, rocking them back and forth. “I need to hear everything.” 

Eddie pulled away with a blush. “Oh, I’m so boring, Bev. You know that. Nothing ever happens to me.” 

Beverly smiled. “I’ve had to listen to Mike explaining the Dewey Decimal System to Stan. Trust me, nothing is more boring,” she said sarcastically. 

“Hey!” Mike said in faux-outrage. 

The Losers laughed. Beverly gave Eddie a kiss on the cheek and turned back to the booth. “Hey, Rich,” she said. “Could I switch places with you? That man over there is giving me the creeps. He keeps looking at me.” 

“My pleasure, Madame,” Richie said grandly. He climbed out of the booth with Mike and Ben. 

“Is everything okay?” questioned Ben. 

“Do you want me to beat him up for you? I could put the screws on him, sweetheart. Just say the word,” Richie asked, putting on a gruff, Humphrey Bogart voice. 

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Beverly said lightly as she sat down. “Nothing’s happened, I just think if I’m sitting here he won’t be able to see me. That’d make me feel better.” 

“Well, let us know,” Bill said with a firm nod as he shut his notebook. 

After everyone was situated in their new seats, Eddie slid in beside Ben. 

“It is kind of weird, isn’t it?” asked Richie as he bobbed his leg up and down and squirmed in his seat. “There being only one other person in the place.” 

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday,” replied Stan matter-of-factly. 

“The breakfast rush probably just ended. Everyone’s at work,” Mike said casually, but he was surveying the diner. Not even a waitress was to be seen. 

“I know, man. I’ve just never seen it this empty. It’s spooky,” Richie said in a voice that tried hard to be cavalier.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and the subject was dropped. 

“Hey, apparently the drive-in in Hermon is showing ‘Jurassic Park’ tonight,” said Ben. “That could be fun. Do you guys want to go?” 

“I don’t know, Ben. I saw that movie three times when it came out,” answered Bill with a shrug. “I’m not really feeling like it.” 

Beverly and Richie disagreed and voiced their desire to see the movie again. Mike hadn’t seen the movie but was down for whatever the group decided. Stan had also not seen the movie but did not have any desire to do so. Eddie found himself on Bill’s side, not really interested in seeing the movie at the moment. As the debate raged, Eddie accidentally made eye contact with the man in the corner. His entire body froze as though he was a deer caught in headlights. For a second he was unable to even move his head. The man didn’t blink his eyes. 

“How’s it going, Eds?” asked Beverly. 

“What?” Eddie said, coming out of his stupor. 

“How’s school? Are you pre-med yet?” 

Eddie cleared his throat guiltily and blushed. “No, no, I’m not pre-med,” he answered. 

“Actually, I did declare my major last semester. Business.” 

“What? Business?” asked Richie. He seemed perplexed. 

“Yes, Business,” Eddie said primly. “It’s extremely practical.” 

“That’s true,” Stan agreed. 

“Oh, and it sounds super interesting. I’m really jealous. I could never be a business major, Richie said sarcastically. He leaned over and stage whispered to Bill. “Five bucks says Mrs. K told him too.” 

“Beep, beep, Richie,” Ben hissed. 

Bill and the other Losers chuckled. The thing that stung Eddie’s heart the most was that Richie was right. Richie could see right through him. Eddie hated that. It left him feeling uncomfortable and peevish. That transformed itself into the much easier feeling of anger. 

“Fuck you, dude. I’m completely fine with the choices I’ve made. I have interests, plans-” Eddie shot back, defensively. 

Richie held up his hands in mock surrender. “Well there. My bad, Eds. So then, how’s it going? Have you taken Labor Exploitation 1010 yet? I’ve heard that’s the real hot ticket.” 

The other Losers exchanged long-suffering glances and sighed. They all knew where this was going. Richie and Eddie had always bickered, but it had been playful and tempered by honest friendship and enjoyment in each other's company. Just after graduation, something had changed and none of the Losers knew what it was. It left them flummoxed. Richie and Eddie didn’t speak to each other nearly as often and when they did it turned into a fight. 

Eddie gritted his teeth and his nostrils flared. “Just shut the fuck up Richie. Just shut up. You know, you’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

Richie continued on as though he hadn’t heard, but his jaw was set and his eyes were narrowed behind his glasses. “Or maybe you haven’t had to take any of the classes. They just automatically gave you the degree. Seeing as you’re such a natural. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do, nay, what you were made for. I remember growing up you never shut up about getting a business degree.” 

“What are you studying, Richie?” Mike asked mildly, trying to head the argument off at the pass. 

Before Richie was able to answer, they were approached by the waitress. The waitress was Jennifer Groban, whom they had gone to high school with. She had been a cheerleader until becoming pregnant at the beginning of Senior year. No one knew who the father was. It was embarrassing to be served by someone who was once the most popular girl in school. It was embarrassing to be forced to serve people you once turned your nose up at.

The Losers ordered a plate of fries to share and individual malts. Stan and Bill both got Vanilla, Richie got Oreo, Beverly got Raspberry, Mike got Coconut Cream, Eddie got Banana and Ben got Brownie. Everyone’s cheeks were tinged with red throughout the interaction with Jennifer. They were all mature and no one said anything untoward until she left. An ironic smile crossed Richie’s lips. 

“It’s always nice to see old friends doing well,” he said snidely. 

“Beep beep, Richie. Be nice,” chastised Beverly, as the Losers stifled giggles. 

The food came back extremely quick considering there was no one else who needed to be served. As the Losers ate and took sips from each other’s malts they told stories about life on their college campuses. Bill explained the plot of the story that he was currently writing. Richie proudly told a story about being heckled for the first time during a comedy set. Mike jokingly started to try and explain the Dewey Decimal System to the group until Ben threw a french fry at him. With all of the talking, it took them two hours to finish and the leftover french fries were freezing cold. When Bill suggested that they go swimming at The Quarry the group readily agreed. As they left Eddie saw that the man was still sitting in the corner booth, still staring at him. 

Derry was divided into two distinct sections by the Kenduskeag River. The city had been built around it, creeping up the surrounding hills and dales. As the river snaked its way through downtown it was controlled by a mile-long canal. At the intersection of Main Street and Canal Street the Kenduskeag dived underground. It was an underground river for a half-mile before surfacing again in Bassey Park. 

At the mouth of the river in Bassey Park, the earth had been cut open by erosion and formed great cliffs around the water. This made up the Quarry. The cliffs of limestone were jagged and covered in vegetation. It was surrounded by great, tall balsam fir trees that most Derry residents used as Christmas trees. The trees stood like guards, watching over those who wandered the woods. The soft ground was shrouded with the tree needles. The waste from the sewers that spilled out into the river had dispersed by this point, leaving the emerald green water of the Quarry crystal clear and relatively clean. 

As was customary, Beverly was the first one to jump off the cliff into the water. She was followed by Bill. The five remaining exchanged glances. 

“Okay, nose goes next,” determined Mike. 

Richie, Stan, Ben, and Mike’s pointer fingers shot up to their nose. Before Eddie could think it through and talk himself out of it he ran and jumped off the cliff. Eddie fell through the air, his arms pinwheeling and his legs kicking back and forth. He couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t see anything. Blood rushed to his brain and adrenaline pulsed through his veins. Eddie let out a loud whoop. It bubbled up inside of him like fizz from soda pop and there was nothing Eddie could do but let it out. 

Faster than he had been expecting Eddie hit the water. The water pierced his skin like thousands of knives. He plummeted deeper and deeper into the depths. When the force stopped pushing Eddie down he regained control. He began to swim upward. The surface seemed so far away. Would he be able to make it in time? The adrenaline from the jump went into survival mode. Panic pushed him up. His legs kicked as hard as they could, but it felt like Eddie was in one of those dreams where you’re running from danger but unable to move. There was no oxygen in Eddie’s lungs at the moment and his were especially delicate. Anything could go wrong. 

“Edddieee, you’re going to drown. You shouldn’t have done that. You’re going to die,” Sonia Kaspbrak’s voice said in his head. 

It seemed that Eddie had made it into the water in a split second but if you told him he reached the surface an hour later he would have believed you. Fear had a talent for slowing down time. Eddie surfaced, spluttering out water and gasping for breath. He trod water as he got the wind back inside of him. 

“Shit. Stupid, stupid, stupid Eddie. That was such a stupid idea,” Eddie reprimanded himself as soon as he was able to speak. “Why’d you do that? Why did you think that was a good idea? You could have died. Stupid.” 

Richie swam over to him. Only the ends of his hair were wet and he wore a vaguely concerned look on his face. His eyes looked small and beady without the glasses. Behind him, Eddie saw that the other Losers were in the water, laughing and splashing each other. Bill was trying to dunk Mike. 

“Hey, Eds, you good?” Richie called out. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Eddie replied. 

The water was tepid, but after swimming around and acclimating it became a pleasant temperature. None of the Losers complained. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a vibrant blue, the same shade as a cornflower. One of the few clouds sat conveniently in front of the sun. A mild wind whipped through the air. It had rained earlier in the morning washing away the grime. 

The Losers played chicken and Marco Polo. At every given opportunity they splashed water at each other’s faces. Stan and Richie raced between two rock formations that peaked out of the water and accused each other of cheating. Beverly started to teach Bill how to properly dive. They played breath-holding contests which were all handily won by Mike. There was a moment when Eddie became worried about the contests, but when Stan, the judge, pointed out that Eddie was beating Richie by three seconds, the anxiety went away and he was right back in. Though the Losers were doing nothing of importance the time passed quickly. 

Soon after the sun passed its highest point in the sky, Stan started to complain about getting sunburned. He decided not to swim anymore and left for a sandy beach. He pulled out his camera and a bird identification book and searched for birds. After a couple of minutes the other Losers found themselves bored and joined Stan on the beach. 

The beach was located in between two sheer cliffs. On the northeast side, the cliff jutted down into a rocky, jagged grotto. The grotto was tall, but shallow curving downwards into a shape that was almost like a widow’s peak. The beach was covered by polished white sand and laced with moss and Mahogany clamshells. It was relatively free of balsam fir needles. 

The Losers spread out across the beach. Stan sat against a limestone boulder, his eyes peeled to the trees. Beverly splayed out a beach towel and laid down to tan. Richie brought his boombox down from his parent's car and played the new R.E.M. album, “What’s The Frequency, Kenneth?” Bounced between the rocks. Ben pulled out a pack of face cards and with Mike and Eddie played War. 

“All right, ladies un gentlemen,” said Richie in a poor imitation of a German Accent. “vhat is the greatest break-up album of all time? Vu have to answer. We ‘ave vays of making you talk.”

“Oh, easy, Marvin Gaye’s ‘Here, My Dear’” answered Mike, the unspoken ‘duh’ evident in his voice. 

“Good call,” Richie said, nodding his approval. “Denbrough, what say you?” 

“Uh…. ‘Blood on the Tracks’ by Bob Dylan,” Bill replied, his brows furrowed in surprise as though he had been caught off-guard by a question in class. 

“Stan?” 

“ ‘Girl You Know it’s True’ Milli Vanilli,” Stan said sardonically, not looking out from his camera viewfinder.

The Losers burst into giggles. 

Richie pointed at Ben. “Haystack. Your turn.” 

Ben blushed. “The first one that comes to mind is ABBA’s ‘The Visitors’” 

He looked around, expecting teasing and laughter, but none came. 

“Okay, Bevvie who lived on the levee, what’s your pick?” 

“Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rumuors’” Beverly said quickly, confidently. 

“Well, that’s just a gimme,” Richie retorted, a playful gripe.

Beverly stuck her tongue out at him as she lifted herself off her elbows and laid back on her beach towel. As soon as she put her sunglasses back on a drop of moisture fell onto her forehead. 

“Shit, guys, I think it’s starting to rain,” she grumbled. 

The seven scanned the sky for clouds, but for as far as they could see it was completely clear. None of them felt any water fall onto them. Stan theorized that the water could have been shaken out of a tree. 

“Those sorts of things happen,” he said gravely. 

Beverly nodded her head. “You’re probably right.” 

She reached up to brush away whatever had fallen on her forehead. Beverly felt it before she saw it. It was thick, hot and slimy. She froze, unsure if she ever wanted to see whatever was on her fingers. Slowly, she lowered her hand. Trembling. Did she want to see? When it reached her eye line Beverly’s worst fear was confirmed. She let out a shrieking, piercing scream. Smeared across her middle finger was blood; bright red and smelling of iron. 

Arms were immediately wrapped around her. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Bev. Everything’s all right,” Ben whispered in her ear soothingly. 

Beverly’s breath hitched and then slowed down to a relaxed rhythm. As Ben continued to comfort her he used his t-shirt to wipe off the blood from her hand and forehead. 

The boys scoured the area for an injured person or anyone fleeing. No one was visible. It was as though the Losers were the only people in the world. It was only them. There weren’t even bird chirping or wind bristling through the leaves. If they screamed no one would hear them. Eddie wracked his brain trying to remember if he had heard anything unusual, anything that could possibly have been a fight, but he couldn’t remember. The thought of something horrible having occurred nearby while he was unawares sent a shiver down Eddie’s spine. He looked over at Richie and was surprised to find him shaking, his eyes wide behind the glasses. The idea that Richie was frightened only raised Eddie’s fear. 

“Guys, look,” Stan said timorously. 

He was pointing at the side of the grotto. A deep red streak dripped down the side of the class. It was as though the rocks were bleeding. The blood hadn’t dried yet. 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Richie choked out. 

“Okay. I’ll go and drive to the nearest gas station and use a phone to call the police,” said Mike decisively. 

“That’s a good idea,” supported Ben. 

Richie shook his head. “What if it’s just, like, an animal. No big deal, right?” 

Eddie was grateful for the alternative theory. “Right. It’s probably an animal. They’re attacked all the time.” 

Richie beamed at him and said in a stuffy British Accent. “You’ve got quite the head on your shoulders, my boy.” 

“Richie, I don’t think it’s an animal,” Mike replied in a voice that said he didn’t want to be right but knew that he was. 

Bill faced them resolutely. His jaw was set and his back was straight. It was at times like these that the Losers remembered why he was their de facto leader. They would die for him. 

“We need to find out what happened,” he said in a simple, but firm voice. 

No further debate was needed. Without anything more said the seven set out to the top of the cliff. It was a short hike, only about sixty feet, but it was steep and rocky. The trail was lined by craggy boulders and vegetation such as poison ivy. Bill led the way, determined and confident, but there was a weird glint in his eyes and his hands were clutched a little too tight. Ben and Beverly brought up the rear. Eddie walked in the middle. No one said a word, but they exchanged wary, panicked glances. Eddie kept waiting for Richie to speak, praying for him to crack a dumb joke that would break the rubber-band tight tension. A snapped twig could make Eddie jump. The image of the blood never left his mind. In fact, it only became more vibrant and clear. Something in the pit of Eddie’s stomach told him that whatever they found at the top would be horrible. A strange, unhealthy curiosity overcame him. He didn't feel in control of himself. It was as though he was being pushed up the trail. For a moment it seemed to Eddie that his feet weren’t moving, instead, the top of the hill was drawing closer and closer to where he stood. The Losers were meant to find whatever was at the top just as they had been meant to fight that clown. 

The seven reached the top of the cliff in no time at all. There was no body splayed out on the ground. No one was dressed all in black standing over a body, holding a knife. There was no one. it would have been completely empty if not for the dismembered hand that lay near the ridge. It was pale, almost a sickly, dull blue and surrounded by a pool of congealed blood. 

Beverly let out a gasp. “Oh, my God, “ she whimpered. 

“Holy shit!” Eddie screeched. “ Holy shit. Holy shit. Fuck. What the fuck?” 

Richie rushed over to a bush and vomited. 

Stan turned away as though if he couldn’t see the hand it didn’t exist. Running his hands through his hair, he was clearly in distress. “No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening.” 

Eddie let in a deep, calming breath. With the oxygen, it was as though the fear left his body. He felt focused and clear. Slowly, as if in a hypnotic trance, Eddie walked over to the hand. He crouched down to get a better look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are really cooking now.  
> Thank you so much for reading. Please leave a comment and/or kudo. I would love nothing more than to hear you thoughts and theories. THANK YOU!!


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